


Dark Brotherhood: Awake

by TheGnerdyGoblin



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Bonding, Drama, Insecurity, Other, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 90,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27700787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGnerdyGoblin/pseuds/TheGnerdyGoblin
Summary: The Dark Brotherhood's mysterious Listener, Tressa, embarks on an unusual request set by The Night Mother, soon to unravel far more than just Tressa's identity....((Feel free to check out my Deviantart (The-Gnerdy-Goblin) for story and character art and extras))
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally I was not going to post this story here, as it's available on Fanfiction.net and Deviantart, but...eh. Why not?]
> 
> Author's note: This story is, obviously, non-canon. As such, there may be instances considered as out-of-character conduct from established (canon) characters. Any delving into established characters’ pasts, or growth or regression, are not based upon any canon information and only for use of this story. This also applies to any change of location, whether to mapped locations or fan created. I do not own any rights to The Elder Scrolls property or any of its associated contents. Original characters (OCs) written here are nothing more than fan imagining. 
> 
> A foreword of clarification: This story takes place within the Dragonborn Era of The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. The setting here begins after the fall of the Falkreath Sanctuary, but memories will be discussed of the happenings and time spent there.  
> As of the start of this tale, the Dark Brotherhood currently is resided at Dawnstar Sanctuary with surviving members of Falkreath being Nazir, Babette, Cicero, and the Listener. 
> 
> There are new members and their numbers are continuing to grow, but due to lack of that in-game (besides the two unnamed initiates), I'm going to have to make OCs for them as well. 
> 
> The Listener is whatever the player decides in-game, but a short summary of this story's Listener is: Going to be unraveled. Ha. There's a point to it. But an already known right now is that she's a very young woman (perhaps anywhere from 18 to early 20s). Easily revealed through her youthful frame and personality (no worries, I'm not implying a vivacious young woman’s body with large bouncy breast- also sorry that I'm not implying that fun-  
> But she is of small build, built for stealth and agility and is of quite short stature. Even shorter than Cicero, and Babette can stand at chest level.  
> She stays garbed in her stealthy attire and never removes the hood from her head nor mask from her face. So, no, not at present does anyone amongst them know what's under there, not even her race. This is very relevant to the story, obviously , so please stick with me. Haha

Chapter One: Do It Yourself

Tressa dragged her feet through the sloshy snow of Dawnstar's inner street. She had just arrived back by cart from a supply trip for The Sanctuary. 

She was grumbling beneath her mask, still annoyed with being tasked with the job. 

Which wasn't anything but her fault, as she had volunteered herself for it.   
She wanted some fresh air and something to do, since Mother hadn't given her a task for a week now and Nazir was being stingy giving the initiates all the low priority contracts. 

He had been promising he'd give her a high contract if they got one, but they haven't gotten one. 

It wasn't concerning. There were still slumps in their call to duty sometimes as they were still rebuilding their rep in the undermarket, but Tressa was still going to pout about it regardless. 

She took up the supply task to ease her stir a little, but didn't realize she'd have to go out of her way until it was too late. 

She could have turned back and told everyone to get it their damn self, but she was stubborn even at her own cost. 

Besides, a little break outside the Sanctuary was indeed what she wanted, so she turned her list into a quest and told herself not to set foot back in Dawnstar until she got everything on that paper. 

It took her five days to gather everything, especially since one of Nazir's requests was a cooking ingredient that was out of season. She went on a wild goose chase for the thing but finally managed to find it. 

She was actually quite proud it only took her five days to travel, get everything—especially Nazir’s damn vegetable--, and get back. 

Tressa was always quite happy with the confidence boost completing quests gave her, even if she was grumbling in annoyance now. 

The high of completion, though, had worn off by the time she arrived back at Dawnstar on the horse cart. 

She probably could have gotten back even faster if she had rode Shadowmere, but he was a big horse and she has always had trouble reigning any horse with her small stature. 

She didn't want to keep falling off or slipping the reign on this whole adventure and take even longer getting back.   
She'd been meaning to ask Cicero to teach her how to ride better, as he is a surprisingly good rider despite his also small stature .

At least it was surprising to her. She figured it had to be hard for anybody close to the ground like them. She'd be devastated if Babette was an elite wrangler too, but she's never seen Babette ride and didn't want to until she herself could manage the beasts. 

Just on the chance that Babette could trot circles around her. 

Tressa kept trudging through the slosh, her backpack brimming full of the list, icy particles of the ocean mist were tapping upon the lens of her mask as she got closer to the shoreline to round the outcrop of rocks that blocked their Sanctuary door from obvious view. 

She noted she could still hear the dragon in the far distance that was out there five days ago when she left. 

Tressa's grumblings of the list, the cold, and the icy mist obstructing her vision shifted to complaining about the Dragonborn needing to do his own work too and wondering if the rumors she heard on her travels, about him being amongst the Thieves Guild, were true. 

She could very possibly run into him while fencing goods and tell him to get back to work slaying these damn dragons so rerouting around them could stop slowing her down too. 

“What are you whining about now?” a child's voice startled Tressa as she rounded the outcrop. 

“Babette! Sithis sake. You could start with a hello,” Tressa huffed as she saw the unchild crouched near a snowberry bush, plucking the red fruit from its branches. 

“Hi, Listener,” the little vampire deadpanned, “We thought you we're dead.” 

Tressa was nearly past her but now turned to the girl. 

“Huh?” the Listener quizzically titled her head. 

“Yeah, I mean,” Babette explained, “You have been gone for days. We thought maybe the dragon flew over and ate you.” 

“Seriously?” 

“If you were gone any longer, yes.” 

Tressa quickly swung her backpack from her back to hold out in front of her. 

“Did you all forget the novel of a list you sent me out with?” she said. 

Babette shrugged her shoulders as she began to head towards the Sanctuary door with a satchel of the berries she just picked.

“Towns right there,” she replied. 

Tressa tilted her head again, quite dramatically for effect. 

“Towns right the--Town's right there?!” she repeated back in exasperation. She yanked the list from her bag and held it out as if it was the answer to all things. 

“Do you know what all is on here?! I swear I almost had to go all the way to Els--" 

“I know you wrote down my request for lavender and some pine thrush eggs,” Babette interrupted, “Did you get them?” 

Tressa was frozen in her stance, probably highly annoyed at the unchild, but it was impossible to read a covered face. 

She finally swung the arm holding the list down and mockingly answered, “Yes, I got them, little grandma.” 

Babette grinned a bit. 

“Thank you, Listener,” she said to which Tressa nodded with sarcastic enthusiasm. 

She and Babette headed to the door together. 

The others inside didn't pay much attention to the sound of the main entry door slamming as they knew it was just Babette returning indoors. 

But the chatter of the Listener and the unchild began to echo into the main chamber and grabbed their attention, as Babette had riled Tressa up again by teasing her about having gotten startled earlier. 

“Jump scares don't count!” Tressa argued, “I'm telling you, YOU didn't scare me!” 

“You jump at everything,” Babette nodded. 

“No! No I do not!” the young Listener waved her finger dismissively, “And that doesn't mean--"

Tressa was then, unfortunately but well timed, quite startled by the loud shout quickly approaching from her right as they entered where the Night Mother's sarcophagus rested. 

“LISTENEEER!!” a high pitch tone from their jester clad Keeper rang out as he hurried to the two entering. 

Tressa nearly back peddled into the door frame out of reflex to bound away from any possible approaching danger. 

She caught herself and pushed forward when she realized it was just Cicero. 

She also heard Babette snickering and turned on the vampire. 

“Jump scares don't count, damn it!” she snapped. 

The jester was now upon them and was unloading every bit of his apparent concern about the whereabouts of the Listener for the past five days. 

“My Listener! Sweet Mother's mercy! We thought you were dead! Eaten by that dragon!” he said, repeating what Babette had said outside, “Worried absolutely crazy! Cicero was this close to gutting that dragon himself and fishing you from his belly! We can't lose our Listener, Listener! No! No! No! We waited sooo long for one. So long. And sooo long for you to return from your little quest!” 

“Little quest?!” Tressa flung her arms up, “What is with you lot and forgetting the massive book of groceries you sent me for! I had to go far and wide for you people!” 

“Far?” Cicero looked at her with question.

“Yeah. Far,” Tressa nodded. 

The jester's eyes darted as if through the wall then back to her.

“What?” the girl asked impatiently. 

“Towns right there,” he said. 

The Listener dropped her arms in dramatic fashion and leaned back to let loose the pure agitation in a loud, frustrated sigh. 

“Dread Father, give me strength!” she growled and straightened up, pointing her finger accusingly between the jester and vampire, “You all did this to me on purpose, didn't you?!” 

The two of the accused both shook their heads in unison.

Tressa put her hands to her hips, indicating she probably wanted to berate them more but the deep voice of a Redguard piped up from the stairs of the common area. 

“So, you finally return,” Nazir said as he leaned on the support beam at the top of the stairs 

Tressa whipped around and pointed her angry finger at him.

“Oh no! Nuh uh! By Gods, don't you start too,” she lit into him, “And I swear! I SWEAR! If you ask what took me so long or ‘towns right there', I am going to set this backpack on fire and THROW IT IN SOMEBODY'S FACE!” 

Nazir held up a hand and waved limply in acknowledgment.

“Alright, Listener, I hear you. Calm down now,” he said, “I was only going to say that I'm glad you didn't become dragon chow for the sake of my vegetables.” 

Tressa then fished those requested vegetables from her bag and threw them quite vigorously at Nazir, who almost fumbled the catch, laughed a bit under his breath, and proceeded to head back down to the commons. 

“Thank you, Listener,” he said as he descended the stairs. The Listener’s response was merely a huff. 

Her masked eyes then locked on to Cicero. 

He raised his brow in question, “Hmm?” 

“Oh, don't ‘hmm' me like you don't know,” the Listener replied and retrieved his requested item from her pack now, “Here's your damn oil.” 

Cicero smiled greatly at her as he clasped both hands around her hand and the vial. 

“Oh, thank you, dear Listener! Thank you!” he said with what seemed to be genuine gratefulness, but his over enthusiasm sometimes rubbed her as brazen cheekiness. She definitely knew sarcasm was frequent to leave his tongue. 

Usually, she did actually find good humor in this, but her only response this time was an unamused “Eh.” 

“Oh! Mother thanks you too!” he added, seeing as it was to aid the Night Mother directly. 

Tressa decided to be cheeky herself, whether Cicero had intended to be or not, and say, “Oh, how would you know? I'm the Listener….She can only, and should, tell me her damn self.” 

Her last comment changed Cicero's expression immediately to one that she knew he was about to rebuke her fiercely for such a heinous comment, so she leaned to the side as if she heard the voice of the Night Mother calling from behind him. 

“Oh my, she just did!” Tressa exclaimed in a false tone of shock, “What a sweet, kind Mother! Of course you're welcome! You shouldn't even HAVE to thank me for ANYTHING. Not ANYTHING. Nothing I ever do for you. Ever!” 

Cicero didn't look the least bit convinced, or amused, and a tense silence fell for a moment. 

But he then released his hands from the grip he had been holding on hers and snatched the vial of oil as he did so. 

“Thank you, Listener,” he said again, but his tone was clearly sardonic now. He turned heel; however, and walked away. 

“Yeah, you're welcome,” Tressa replied, but then mumbled under her breath as he furthered away, “….where's your sense of humor, you grumpy frumpy funny man?”

The jester may or may not have heard her, and if he did, he showed great restraint by only pausing for the slightest of a moment and then continued on with a peppy hum. 

The Listener paid him no mind anyway and was now descending the stairs to the common area. 

“Oi, you guys! Kor! Aphid!” she called down to the young men, two Nords and of the new initiates, seated at the meal table.

She held up her bag as she continued down towards them. 

“I got your shite!” she said, shaking the pack, “Aphid, I hope you're okay with damaged goods, because I dropped the damn thing SO. many. times.” 

She stopped upon the last step and stilled for a moment. 

Kor, the younger of the two men, was just about to ask her what was the matter but she spoke up again , revealing the answer. 

“Urgh, of course. As soon as I---Coming, Mother!” Tressa called out, having heard a beckon from the Night Mother above. 

She shook her head a tad and tossed the bag onto the table, knocking some utensils and empty tankards on to the two men, but they didn't seem to mind. Kor, though, did save his mead cup from spilling. 

“Either take the rest to everyone else or tell them their shite’s on the table. I don't care which. Just do it yourself,” Tressa threw her hands up and began ascending the stairs now.   
Kor’s mumbling comment of hoping it's not a bag full of dragon dung made her snicker a bit, but she made sure to stomp loudly upon the steps so no one could hear it and everyone knew she was clearly agitated with them. 

Tressa made it back atop and rounded to the Night Mother. 

Cicero was just getting done putting the vial she obtained for him inside a satchel of supplies he kept behind the sarcophagus. 

He stood, and having heard Tressa call out from below a moment ago, he knew why she had come back. He did an exaggerated bow and wave of his arm as he stepped aside and leaned upon the wall in wait. 

The Listener made no indication whether she found it funny or not and stood before their revered Mother to await instruction. 

Cicero watched as Tressa swayed her head a little here and there and gave a tilt, something he learned was a habit of hers to indicate she was listening to whoever spoke at length to her. 

After an unusual lengthy moment, she stepped back and gave a curious, but stated “Huh.” 

“Huh?” Cicero mimicked in a question, “….Why huh, Listener?” 

She turned her head towards him, but of course, Cicero couldn't read any expression she may have had under that mask. 

He made a motion that could only be read as “Well? Go on?” 

“Um,…I think this calls for a meeting,” Tressa explained, “Come on.” 

Cicero looked absolutely curious now and most certainly followed as they began descending the stairs to the commons together. 

Tressa waved out to those below and called, “Family meeting!...Except for low ranks…Seriously clear out! Things to discuss!” 

Aphid began to do as told but Kor didn't. 

“We're part of this guild, no?” he asked. 

“Barely!” The Listener replied and waved as if shooing a fly. 

“But Babette doesn't hold any special rank,” the young Nord ignored her motion for him to clear out and pointed to the eternal child following behind the Listener and Cicero. 

“She holds lifetimes more rank than you'll ever achieve here,” Tressa retorted, “Don't question me or her. Now get out of here, before I sick my rabid merry man on you.” 

Cicero suddenly seemed to snap his attention up, having been lost in curious thought. 

“Hmm? What? Me?” he said, “…..Did you just call Cicero rabid?...That's rude, Listener. Such a foul mood you'v--" 

Tressa quick turned on him swinging her arms from him to Kor. 

“No. Him. Look at the initiate. Look at this rudeness,” she said, “Defying his Listen--"

“DO NOT DEFY YOUR LISTENER, YOU INSOLENT CUR!” Cicero suddenly boomed at the Nord, slapping the tabletop for good measure. 

He startled both Kor and Tressa, the latter quickly regaining composure to try and cover it. 

Kor held his hands up and finally conceded. 

“Okay, okay. I didn't mean nothin' by it,” he said and decided it best to trot off with Aphid. 

After being sure the initiates were gone, Tressa, Cicero, Babette, and Nazir sat at the table to discuss what the Night Mother had shared with the Listener. 

They all looked very curiously at Tressa. Nazir speaking up first. 

“So, exactly who is so high on a kill list you needed to call upon all of us?” he asked. 

Babette gasped just a slight. 

“Oh no, it's not the Dragonborn, is it?” she asked, “I don't want to sound faithless, but we are no where near ready to slit that throat.” 

Tressa shook her head. 

“No….No. See, um, the thing is..,” she began and seemed rather befuddled at the explanation she had to give. She brought her hands up to the sides of her head as if in troubled thought. 

There was a silent moment that hung over them waiting for her to speak. 

Then suddenly, she slammed her hands down hard on the table with a loud shout to accompany it. 

All three of the others jumped from the sudden fright. 

“YES!” the Listener cheered, “YES! Finally! I got all of you! See how it feels, huh?!” 

“Jump scares don't count, Listener!” Babette snapped. 

Cicero had a hand to his chest and looked at the Listener with what seemed a mix of disappointment and anger. 

“Listener!” he said, “Really?!....Did the Night Mother give you instructions or was this all a prank, you imp of a child!” 

“Oh no no,” Tressa replied, “She did. She did. I just couldn't waste a good opportunity for vengeance. I mean—you guys can't see it, but I have the biggest smile on my face now….You can see this, though.” 

She flipped them the double bird. 

“Enough, already,” Nazir scolded, having grown more than tired of the shenanigans, “Please. Stop. What contract has the Night Mother spoken of?” 

Tressa set her hands down and blew a raspberry beneath her mask but pressed the childishness no further. 

“It's not a contract, as I did say,” she finally explained, “….It's a retrieval.”


	2. Mother's Lost Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Oh! Guys! I am so sorry. I forgot to clarify that the Kor in this story is not the same Kor from the 2nd Era's Dark Brotherhood (ESO). I just loved that name so much and my brain would not budge off it. What can I say? Just, uh,...pretend it's a common name for a typical Nord?

Chapter 2: Mother's Lost Child

“A….retrieval?” Nazir repeated in nothing less than a befuddled, almost disbelieving, tone.

“Okay, look,” Tressa held up hand, “I know I'M the Listener, but you lot need to start some listening too. So tired of repeating myself...” 

Nazir put his forehead down into his palm, painfully obvious that he was trying to be patient with their supposedly high ranking guild sister. 

“Just…,” he said, “Just tell us what you mean by retrieval…No dramatic pauses. No pranks. No witty backtalk…please, my Listener.” 

Tressa flung her hands up as if she had no idea what he was on about, but then straightened properly in her chair and placed her hands on the table in a formal manner. 

“Our Mother has asked for the finding and retrieving,.. alive.., of a Breton woman who goes by the name Sybil Jullamont. Her last known location being just outside of Evermor in High Rock; however, it's possible she’s moved on further in--"

“She's not an invoker?” Nazir questioned.

Tressa slunked back into her chair and folded her arms. 

“Gods, Nazir,” she grumbled, “You ask me to explain straightaway and then you go and interrupt me…No, it's not a normal request to speak to an invoker! Listen to the Listener. Listen. Mother is asking us to retrieve this woman and bring her here. By any force necessary-- except death. She wants her alive. She does also want her in one piece, but she most certainly wants her no matter who we have to cut through. That's ‘bout the only elaboration Mother gave. She tends to be cryptic like that…I'm using context clues here to guess that this Sybil is guarded, but…Wait, Cicero?”

The jester's deep listening stare snapped to awareness of being called upon. 

“Yes, Listener?” 

“You're old..--"

Cicero gave her a puzzled and nearly offended look to which Tressa sat up and waved her hands. 

“Old to the guild, I mean,” she corrected but then corrected once again, “…I mean, you’ve been among the Brotherhood longer than we--amongst the Night Mother longer…Ugh…Sybil Jullafont…Does she ring a bell? An old runaway or enemy or something of the like that has been awaiting trial…punishment?” 

Cicero seemed to think only for a moment. 

“Cicero's never heard that name, no,” he said shaking his head but then nodding, “But whatever the reason, it doesn't matter. If Mother asked for this woman, then we must go get this woman.” 

“I know, I know,” Tressa nodded as well, “I’m just curious. Night Mother really didn't elaborate much at all and I wonder just how dangerous this Breton is…” 

Cicero reached over and placed a hand on Tressa's shoulder. 

“Cicero will be more than glad to accompany and protect you, Listener, if you're that scared,” the jester offered with an air of poking fun. 

“Oh, shut up,” the girl retorted and twitched her shoulder out of his hand but then grabbed his arm as he started to pull away, “But you are coming with me. I need a yakety yak to keep the long trip lively.” 

The jester gave her a smile. 

“Sure thing, my Listener,” he said making a move with his hand towards the top of her head..

She attempted to hold his hand away but was failing that strength test. 

“Don't do it,” she warned as her attempt to hold his arm back was failing and his hand hovered over the top of her head, “Don't you do it... Ciceroooo. Doon't do it.” 

Her muscles gave out under the weight of his arm and he succeeded in patting the top of her head in a patronizing manner.

“You're such an ass,” the young Listener huffed and sank back in her chair again. The jester then sat back in his own chair with the utmost smugness plastered across his face. 

Nazir, who still sat annoyed with chin in one hand, tapped the fingers of his other hand upon the table in wait for this stupid merriment to end. 

He did mumble out, “I don't disagree with that a bit,” upon Tressa's insult to Cicero but he waited in patient impatience for the two to refocus. 

Babette; however, spoke up before he did. 

“So, you've no idea much about this?” she asked.

“Nope,” Tressa shook her head, “Like I said, the Night Mother really didn't elaborate much. I wish she did, seeing just how strange a request this is, but she apparently found no need to…or deemed what information she did provide as enough…Or perhaps she just needs to rest.”

Nazir straightened a bit more in his chair and chimed in, “High Rock is quite a journey away….When are you expected to depart on this?” 

Tressa sighed with a shrug. 

“I suppose as soon as possible….But I just got home. I'm exhausted. I'd have to camp down too soon upon leaving here,… so I'm going to assume Mother will be patient while I rest and make preparations here at home. Maybe perhaps she'll provide more information before I embark…I'm certainly hoping so, because this IS quite the journey to make on such little intel--"

Tressa was suddenly interrupted by Aphid’s rough voice piping in from the hallway entrance. 

“I have a few scrolls that might be of aid for travel,” he said, blatantly coming out from the eavesdropping. 

All the higher ranks were now glaring at him for his intrusion. Nazir stood from his chair and folded his arms sternly. 

“Aphid! I expected this sort of disobedience from Kor, but--" the Redguard was cut off from his scold by the brazen Nord. 

“Yes, I apologize, but I want to be of help and of rank. I can't do that unless I am of use,” he said. His ocean blue eyes looked at them earnestly through the ragged, uneven rust colored bangs that hung just a tad bit in his line of sight. 

They all still looked at him in frustration, but Tressa finally gave a nod and motioned for him to step over. 

“Fine,” she said, “What do you have to offer for this quest?”

Aphid didn't step closer, but he did motion towards the hall and said, “Quick Travel Scrolls. They're in my pack in the initiate quarters.” 

Tressa cocked her head. “…What now?”

Babette explained it to her. 

“They're fairly new, Listener, but I've heard of them. They are of easier access than learning the old spell,” the unchild nodded and then went on with the explanation, “They temporarily open a pathway of instantaneous travel. Hold a scroll. Think clearly of a location you wish to go and it will open a temporary gate to step through. But it can only be a place you've been before, as you need to see it in your mind. Also, it will not activate should anything you consider an enemy be nearby—a failsafe created to keep you from being followed through. Although that does mean you're stuck until you dispatch the threat or clear away a considerable distance.” 

Tressa stood up and placed her hands on the table. 

“Okay?” she said and her masked face tilted up towards Aphid again, “…Sounds like a one way road. I've never been to Evermor. I was sold to a slaver once on the east outskirts of High Rock. I was very young, though. I don't believe I can recall that location or the roads traveled.” 

Aphid shook his head and replied, “It could be of use once you're there. Capture this Sybil and bring her back instantly… or should you have need to come home for any reason. Poof. You're home. Step ground in High Rock but find you need help of more guild siblings? You’ll have the recollection you need to port back and forth, so long as you have scrolls. I only have three, by the way. Bought them off a wandering trader.” 

Tressa slapped the table, almost startling everyone again.

“Why!” she shouted in what seemed to be agitation, “…Why didn't you give me one when I went on the supply trip?!”

She saw Aphid do exactly as Cicero had done earlier with looking as if he was glancing through the very walls at the town of Dawnstar. 

Tressa snapped her fingers and pointed at him in a threatening fashion. 

“Don't. You. Daaare. Say. It,” she warned, “…Go get your scrolls then. Go on.” 

Aphid raised a brow in confusion at her agitation, but he then nodded obediently and turned for the hall. 

Tressa was just about to sit again when Aphid excusing himself as he passed someone caught her, and everyone else's, attention. 

Tressa shot back up and folded her arms. 

“Really?!” she barked, “Whoever else is eavesdropping, step out right now.” 

Yet another brazen Nord popped out from hiding. 

Tressa growled. 

“Ooof course, it's you.. Kor,” she said.

Kor’s blue eyes gleemed with pride as he mockingly tossed his blond, braided hair from his shoulder. 

“Ha!” he laughed, “You lot should be proud of our ability to go undetected by you so called elite assassins.” 

That attitude and comment had Cicero rise from his chair and about to go at the Nord, but Tressa grabbed his sleeve and tugged him to her attention. 

“Wait, rabid merry man,” the Listener halted.   
The jester narrowed his eyes upon her now and put his hands to his hips in an impatient manner. 

Tressa shrugged a bit but spoke with annoyance, “Perhaps he has something to offer as well?”

Kor smirked and shook his head. 

“Nope,” he said and intentionally widened his grin at the mad jester who had turned his gaze back towards him. 

The young Nord pointed his thumb at the hall. 

“Me and Tsuni are just plain ole eavesdroppers,” he said. 

Tressa flung her hands out, “Sunny?! Wha- No?!” 

Another of the new initiates, a female Khajit with golden eyes and desert sand fur, cautiously stepped out from the hall. 

She meekly spoke up with her purrish voice. 

“This one offers such sincere apologies. Most sincere,” she said as her ears pointed down with the lowering of her head. 

Tressa's hands flopped to her sides.

“Awe, Sunny, no,” she whined, “I like you. Don't get in cahoots with the likes of him.” 

The Khajiit fiddled with her claws in a nervous fashion.

“Not this one's intention, dear Listener,” she said, “This one shamefully fell to curiosity when she saw the brother Nords. Apologies once again.”

Kor thumped the Khajiit on the ear and rolled his eyes.  
“Bootlicker,” he commented. 

Cicero stepped away from the table and a few steps towards them, and despite Kor's bold demeanor moments ago, he did back step a bit. Just the same as Tsuni did. 

The jester peered at them with punishing intent. 

“Insolence. The both of you,” he scolded, “Tsuni’s sincerity is what's saving the cat for her curiosity, but YOU-.” 

He pointed at the Nord. 

“Cicero has no patience left for you,” he said. 

Kor attempted his smirk again but the corners of his mouth twitched just a slight with uncertainty. 

“So, um,” the Nord attempted a retort, “Is this where we break the tension with whips and chains?”

Cicero didn't laugh.

His glare did not waver.

A tense moment hung a second longer before the jester gave an up tilted nod and pointed towards their Sanctuary’s torture chamber. 

“Yes,” he answered. 

The ill-mannered Nord frowned instantly and visibly paled.

“Wait-what?” he stammered, “Are you seriou—Is he serious?” 

“Ooh, uh oh,” Cicero taunted and tsked, “Someone hasn't been studying themselves for their guild. You truly are a rotten initiate.”

“And you are a rotten jokester of a jester,” Kor replied, “This is a joke, right? Tress—Listener? He can't do this? Nazir?”

Their silence sank upon him.

As soon as he locked eyes with Cicero again, a frightened yelp nearly escaped the young man as the Imperial clown stamped his foot loudly upon the ground and shouted, “GET OUT!” 

In great relief for Kor, Cicero wasn't pointing towards the torturous chamber, and had switched his directing finger for the Nord to retreat to the initiate quarters. 

Kor finally obeyed without remark and hurried away. He nearly bumped into Aphid who was returning with the scrolls. 

Aphid casually side stepped him, not paying any mind to the matter or to him.

He entered the main chamber again just as Cicero had turned his attention to Tsuni and was giving her an unthreatening shooing wave. 

The Khajit nodded and dismissed herself to the initiate quarters as well. 

Aphid gave her an acknowledging nod and partial smile as they passed one another and then he moved on to approach the table.  
He tossed the small satchel that held the scrolls upon it. 

“Here you are, Listener,” he said, “Anything else I have to offer—potions, trinkets, food, my life... All, of course, are at your disposal as well.” 

Nazir stepped to the Nord and patted him on the back. 

“Why can't that skeever of a Nord, Kor, be like you,” he said.

Aphid gave a bland smile but replied, “..Or like that Tsuni.” 

“Oh, she is too sweet for us,” Babette added in but with a tone of endearment. 

“Sweeter than any moon sugar,” Tressa nodded,”….Gods, I love that Sunny.” 

The Listener then clapped her hands at attention. 

“Alright, back on track,” she said, “….So, three scrolls. Hmm. I will reserve one for emergency. Always plan for emergency. One for travel from High Rock to here. And one should I need to travel from here to High Rock. I'm definitely going to look for more of these while we travel.”

Babette spoke up again. 

“You can learn the spell,” she suggested, “You've been tuning your magicka more lately, right?” 

Tressa suddenly reacted defensively on the matter. 

“I'm trying!” she snapped, “It's not that easy, you know! All these different categories and branches and--”

“Alright, Listener,” Babette held her hands up, “I'm sorry. I know it's a bit of a sore subject. I was going to suggest purchasing scrolls from the College--"

“We do not talk about that place!” Tressa hissed. 

“Okay, yes,” Babette waved the matter with her hands, “Sore subject.”

“Literally,” Tressa huffed and the lens of her mask locked on to Cicero. 

The jester shrugged.   
“Cicero suffered more damage than you that day, dear Listener,” he said, “I held my patience quite well as you zapped me repeatedly with that shock spell...” 

“The discharges were not intentional!” Tressa interjected, “I was warming up!” 

“Oh yes, and then you shredded that poor test giver to pieces…with a supposedly simple shock spell…AND zapped patient Cicero AGAIN,” he snarled. 

“I apologized so many times!” Tressa stomped, “You didn't have to chase me down when I was already trying to evade the college retaliating against me and then you go and THRASH my palm with a damned snowberry switch!? You're lucky I still let you tag along with me, you monster!” 

Cicero blew a slight raspberry with his lips.

“It was warranted,” he answered unapologetically, “There's just so many times Cicero can let even the Listener assault him.”

Tressa flung herself back down in her chair in an obvious pout. 

“Yeah, yeah, it's why I didn't zap you into oblivion like the poor lady….By Sithis, you nearly thwacked my hand in two, though…Such a stupid day to wear cloth gloves.” 

She idly poked at her leathered palm now. 

“But grand I am at destruction spells,” she said with a hint of pride. 

Cicero rolled his eyes and patted her shoulder. 

“Yes, yes. You're the best, Listener,” he said, clearly patronizing her. 

She jerked her shoulder from him once again today and recollected her focus back on the scrolls and the Nord who brought them. 

“Thank you, Aphid,” she gestured to the him, “I will call upon you again, I'm sure. You have indeed proven useful with this alone. Thank you, again.” 

Aphid nodded respectfully in return. 

“Yes, thank you, Listener. I am glad I was of use,” he replied and then turned away and dismissed himself from the commons. 

Tressa drummed her fingers on the table now in thought but then sighed and sat back. 

“I need to rest,” she said and then leaned forward once again and snatched a wedge of cheese and the half loaf of bread from the table, “….And need to eat… I am going to retire to my quarters for a bit. We'll discuss and prepare more this evening, after dinner. Right now my thoughts are beginning to mingle with food and bed. See you all for supper~.” 

With that, Tressa departed to own quarters to snack in private and rest.

About half an hour later, she laid on her bed, having finished her bread and cheese and adorning her mask back to her face. She simply stared at the ceiling in thought. 

Her arm dangled off the side of her bed, idly spinning the water canteen she kept by her nightstand. 

She was fiddling her thoughts around trying to decide a clearer plan for an unclear quest, but she could feel the cradle of sleep rocking her brain. 

The water canteen slipped from her fingers but its thudding on the ground didn't disturb her drift off into slumber.

A veil of blackness and silence blanketed her before she opened her eyes to find herself in a surreal room.

She could tell she was supposedly in a chamber, dark and brooding, but its contents and very design flickered and unfocused in waves that she quickly reasoned she was dreaming. 

And then she realized she could hear a faint voice. Feminine but hoarse. 

“Yes, Night Mother?” Tressa called out reflexively.

She couldn't hear it again for a moment, but then it resurfaced a little louder. 

Tressa still couldn't quite make out what the voice was saying. 

“Mother?” the Listener called out again, “Are you calling to me?” 

Tressa wondered for a moment if she could wake herself, if the Night Mother was calling for her to, but she finally distinctly heard something.

“It…..End.” 

Tressa looked all around her self, as if she could hear the voice better if she found it by sight. 

“Must...End,” the voice grew louder. 

The Listener was nearly about to remove her hood to unlatch her mask but suddenly felt, and saw, the heavy presence behind her. 

She stared at the intense red glow on the ground before her and then turned to see the grand stained glass windows shining crimson moonlight through.

She was so captivated by it that the sarcophagus standing before her almost didn't register in her line of sight. 

Tressa's attention; however, soon fell upon it. 

It didn't quite look the same as the Night Mother's sarcophagus in the waking world, but she assumed it to still be hers. 

“Mother?” Tressa spoke to it, “…I'm here.” 

The sarcophagus suddenly jarred open just a slight and startled the Listener enough to make her hop back. 

The voice spoke up again.

It sounded like it came from everywhere and nowhere at once.

“It must end,” it said in an insistent manner. 

Tressa spoke back as she looked about around her again.   
“What? What do you mean?” 

Movement from the sarcophagus caught her attention once more.

The unmistakable gnarled and decrepit hands of the Night Mother began clasping at the narrow opening.

Tressa felt a strange unease about it.

She stepped forward just a bit but then backed stepped again. 

She found herself feeling very unsure.

The voice came again with great urgency, nearly hissing upon her very mind: 

“THIS. MUST. END!” 

The boom of the sarcophagus bursting open snapped Tressa awake in an instant. 

She sat up as quickly as she could and turned her head about to scan the room. 

It was her room. Her walls. Her ceiling. Her bed. 

She swayed her head a bit and listened for anything. 

She only heard the distant chatter and clatter from the other quarters. 

For a few moments she just sat on the edge of her bed, thinking whether or not she should think anything about the dream.   
If it was more than that. 

Footsteps approaching her door snapped her out the thought. 

A rhythmic knock echoed through it and she heard Cicero's sing-song voice from behind it. 

“Listeneeer~! I brought your dinneeer~!” he chimed, “Wakey~! Wakey~!”

Tressa stood and stretched out a yawn. 

She headed to the door and sang song back with feigned annoyance. 

“Oh for Sithis sakey, I'm awakey~.”


	3. You and Me, Me and You

Chapter 3: You and Me, Me and You

Tressa unlatched her door and pulled it open to see the smiling face of the jester as he extended his arms out with a platter of assorted foods in his hands. 

“Hope you didn't fill up on bread and cheese, my Listener,” Cicero said with a small chuckle. 

Tressa shook her head and replied, “Oh Gods, no, I’m still starvin' here….Can't believe it's already supper time, though. Doesn't feel like I knocked out long—OH! Please tell me you made that juniper berry crostata I see!” 

The jester chuckled louder now and nodded.   
“Mmhmm. Cicero did, he did!” he happily replied. 

Tressa clapped her hands together.

“Yay!” she cheered and then held a shushing finger to her mask where her mouth should be, “But shhh…We don't tell Nazir that you make the best sweets.”

“Awe… thank you, Listener,” Cicero spoke kindly at the flattery, “That's, well,..sweet. ” 

He handed the platter off to Tressa and was about to bid her farewell so she could eat her supper in peace, but Kor, who was coming out of the initiate quarters, interrupted them. 

“Okay, I can't NOT ask anymore. Why are you afraid to eat with us? Why the mask?” he very bluntly demanded to know. 

Cicero didn't bother to turn towards the Nord to reply, “Why are you so disrespectful?”.

Kor, apparently having found his courage to begin agitating Cicero again, retorted, “Why are you an unfunny jester?”.

Again, Cicero didn't turn to him, but Tressa could see the infuriation surfacing upon his face as he whispered to himself through his gritted teeth, “Cicero should retract his mercy from earlier.”

Kor, either not hearing Cicero’s threatening whisper or just not caring about it, directed his questioning back to Tressa. 

“Are you disfigured?” he asked out right, but Cicero's turning around to face him did finally get the Nord to add, “I don't mean any disrespect. Gods, honest. I'm just curious.”

Tressa nudged Cicero with her elbow and whispered, “Hey now, you asked pretty much the exact same thing when we met the first time at that farm.” 

Cicero gritted back, “You weren't the Listener then.”

He then quickly whispered, “And Cicero's now admittedly looking for any justifiable reason to tear the impudent skin off his back.”

She shook her head with a sigh and then looked again at Kor.

“I'm not,” Tressa answered, “I just like it.”

“Like it?” Kor repeated. 

Tressa half shrugged.

“Yes. I've been a runaway and a criminal most of my life,” the girl responded, “I've gotten so used to shielding my face from would-be capturers, my covering up is just second nature.-- It's not as sad and horrible as it sounds, really. I just feel quite comfy, and honestly, I really don't mind if you all see me…eventually…. I do greatly enjoy making you all guess at this mystery here. It's fun. I like fun.” 

“Fun,” Kor repeated her again and then said, “Seems like your mystery draws more attention than hiding from it.”

“Oh, a lot,” Tressa nodded, “But it's really more like hit and miss. Just as many lazy-don’t-cares out there as those who just gotta know what's hiding from them.” 

Kor gave a curious look.

“I'm going to guess it,” he said.

“Guess it?” Tressa cocked her head.

Kor made a gesture at her entirety.

“You,” he replied, “I’m going to guess you. I'll figure it out, watch.” 

The Listener laughed a little and nodded.

“Okay, you do that then,” she said and held up her platter, “I'm going to go eat and stay mysterious.” 

She gave Cicero another bump with her elbow to send him off. 

He spun her way, did a quick smile and a see-you-soon and walked away.

He downright jabbed Kor with his elbow as he passed but sing-songed “Come away~ Dinner awaits~.”

The Nord grunted at the jab but rolled his eyes and followed the man down the hall to get dinner. 

After Tressa finished hers, she made her way to the commons with the now empty platter in hand. 

She entered to see most everyone still at the table. 

Kor was still picking at what was left of his food as Aphid was seated beside him having a casual conversation with Tsuni who was seated across. 

Cicero was on the far end of the table and turned sideways in his chair as he was playing Cat's Cradle with Babette. 

The unchild hadn't come for dinner, as she had very different dietary needs, but she always enjoyed the social gathering and the evening opportunities to start her “day" challenging whoever would accept to best her in her skill at the old game. 

The jester was better at it than most, but still was no where near as fluid as the little girl who has had three hundred years to practice. 

Nazir wasn't seated at the table, but was standing at the nearby fireplace smoking on rolled tobacco and appeared to be thinking. 

Tressa noticed Weylen, the Breton mage and first of their new initiates, sitting to himself at an end corner of the table just reading a book. 

She had thought she heard him snapping at someone, probably Kor, when she had went for her nap but she was too tired at the time to swing in the room to greet him.

Plus, he had become a very grouchy man since they lost Greorta, the Nord woman who joined them soon after Weylen did.

He had no doubt quickly developed feelings for the woman, and they even appeared to be on a fling, but unfortunately Greorta lost her life while out on contract. 

She had been eager to take on a more elite target, and had already proven herself a worthy initiate and ready to establish herself well in their ranks, but the target had proven even better. 

Weylen did get his revenge and complete the task she did not, but he was still in the midst of feeling her loss. 

Thus, the grouch. Even far more than Nazir could be. 

At least Nazir occasionally joked around and would smile.

Tressa sat her empty platter in a wash bucket near the cooking pot and then made her way to the table. 

She greeted Weylen this time as she passed him with he only giving a nod and a gruff of acknowledgment. 

The Listener took her usual seat at the head of the table, which was adjacent to where Cicero was and next to where Babette was standing. 

Tressa cheekily poked her fingers through the strings of the complicated Cat's Cradle they were attempting, but it backfired as they tightly pulled the strings together and squeezed her fingers within them. 

Tressa let out a pained laugh as she tried and failed to get out of their trap.   
Their shenanigans was then interrupted by Kor slapping the table to get her attention. 

“Wood Elf!” he said loudly and matter-of-factly. 

“Wood Elf?” Tressa repeated in question.

“That's what you are,” Kor nodded.

“How do you know?” the girl asked finally slipping her fingers loose of the strings. 

“Well, you're really short for starters. I've never met a Bosmer of any height,” Kor explained, “….and….uh…um. Well, damn.” 

“….Is that all you got? I'm Bosmer because I'm short?...Bretons are short….Cicero is short for an Imperial. Weylen’s gruffy, guttural voice suits a Nord more. Aphid is, no offense, a little lanky for a Nord. People come in variety, you know. Give me a better reason. Have you seen me eat a person?” 

“I haven't seen you eat anything,” Kor responded. 

“Touché,” Tressa nodded.

“And yeah,” Kor shrugged his shoulders, “Now that I think just a little harder, you don't have a typical accent of a Wood Elf. But then again, I did hear you mention you were a slave, so you most likely never knew your homeland. And as you just said—variety.” 

“Are you just going to be stuck on Wood Elf?” Tressa asked plainly. 

“Are you a Wood Elf?” Kor asked just as plainly in return. 

She held her hands up in an I-don’t-know sort of stance. 

Kor made a “puh" sound of dissatisfaction. 

“So even if I'm right, you're not going say?” the Nord huffed. 

Tressa did the stance once again. 

Kor gave her a dismissive wave and hmphed. 

Aphid spoke up now, “I say Breton.” 

Tressa clapped her hands and pointed at Aphid. 

“There we go! Keep the guesses coming. Keep it alive!” 

“I say,” Nazir piped in as he tossed the burnt out tobacco roll into the fireplace, “…That we need to get to business on this retrieval.” 

“Retrieval?” Weylen questioned, obviously hearing this for the first time. 

Tressa made a sigh of annoyance.

“Really?” she said, “No one told him? Not one of you eavesdroppers shared your intel? That's a spies greatest joy, isn't it?” 

“I tried,” Kor held his hand up, “He snapped at me to let him read his book in peace….You know, you all act like I'm more pestering than that pester of a jester over there.”

The way they all looked at him upon that comment was telling. 

“Come on!” the Nord flung both his hands up now in disbelief. 

“Your saving grace with me,” Nazir spoke up to him, “Is that you manage to pester that pester of a jester.” 

“Thanks?” Kor said in an unsure tone but then smirked at the room, “Nazir likes me, you guys.” 

Aphid flicked him on the ear.  
“Bootlicker,” he said flatly. 

Weylen's unamused montone interjected any further horseplay.

“Am I going to be let in on this or should I just get back to my book?” he said as he idly scratched at his dark, but greying, beard. 

Tressa suddenly, and clumsily, made her way from chair to chair. She stopped for just a moment to get around Tsuni in the middle, rustling her ears as she passed, and then she was up next to Weylen and clutching his cloak eagerly.

The mage looked at her as if she was absolutely out of her mind and began to ask what she had to drink with dinner, but the oddly acting Listener shook him in excitement while exclaiming, “Why didn't I think of you immediately?!” 

“What?” he asked with no less bewilderment than he had barely a moment ago, “Listener, are you getting enough oxygen in there? Are your air holes blocked?” 

“You're a Breton!” she said triumphantly.

“Uh…yes?”

Kor slapped the table again. 

“Ah! Ah-ha! So you, Listener, are not then?!” 

Tressa flung her head his way then back to Weylen, “Huh? Oh, no, I mean Weylen is a Breton-Breton. Born and raised, pure bred from High Rock….and not 300 years removed like Babette over there. Or a vagabond like me, if I am Breton at all that is.”

Weylen unclutched her hands from his cloak and gently pushed her away. 

“Is there a point to this?” he asked. 

“Yes!” Tressa nodded, “Who is Sybil Jullamont?”

Weylen looked about the table at the others to see if they looked as baffled by this as he.

“I…Who?” he said absolutely perplexed. 

Tressa banged her fist on the table in defeat and turned away. 

“Damn it!” she barked, “That would have been too easy, yes.” 

Weylen pulled at her shoulder to get her to turn back to him.

“If you elaborated a bit more, maybe I could understand?” he suggested and then whispered off hand, “...My San's Spice Wine stash is untouched, right?” 

Tressa did turn to him and straightened up. 

“Sybil Jullamont,” she repeated, “…The Night Mother has requested we capture and bring back to her a Breton woman in High Rock by that name…I thought maybe she must have enough notoriety that you're familiar with her or the name?.....Aaand what's that about a stash? You have a stash? I adore San’s Spice Wine. Where's this stash?” 

Weylen seemed to look within himself in thought but then shook his head. 

“The name maybe seems vaguely familiar, I think, but…no. I'm sorry. I don't think I know a thing about this woman,” he said, “….And it's a stash for that reason. Don't look for it. I will be quite cross with you, Listener. I CAN get even grouchier, you know.” 

Tressa gasped.  
“Even more?” she said in mock surprise and then spun from her chair to stand. 

“Alright, so,” she rubbed her hands together quickly and then rolled her neck as if loosening the muscles, “…Plan. Plan. Pack. Plan. Need to get ready to head out in the morning.”

Nazir stepped down from the fireplace stoop and stood before the Listener to speak to her.

“And who among us should head out? Do you think you'll have need for more than yourself or one sibling?” 

“Well, of course,” Tressa answered, “I’m not going all the way out to another province without so much as someone to talk to. Cicero! You still agree to being my yakety yak?”

“Until you slit my throat, my Listener,” he answered back. 

She spun around with her head leaned to the side.

“That you'll allow but not a harmless few zaps?” she responded as if flabbergasted. 

“Harmless?!” the jester shot back, “The first few, maybe,.. but still highly annoying…But then you nearly ripped Cicero apart just the same as the test giver from the inside out! I'd rather just bleed out!” 

Tressa folded her arms and was about to argue more with the man, but Nazir pulled her attention back.

“If you think you have no need of me, you know I always vote for you to get that jaunty, unstable man out of here for a bit, but,” the Redguard expanded on the question, “Do you think this mission safe enough to handle with just the two of you?” 

“I'm going to bring Kor with us,” Tressa answered almost immediately.

“What?! No!” Cicero smacked both hands upon the table as he jumped up in a mix of frustration and betrayal, “Don't!” 

Tressa simply let out a hmph. 

Kor looked a bit uncertain himself. 

Cicero continued the disagreement by getting up and coming near the Listener with an accusing finger. 

“You're just trying to punish Cicero for justifiably disciplining you! And that was months ago! You've given no indication you've been holding a grudge on me, you childish scamp!” 

“I haven't,” Tressa said, “Emotions have simply resurfaced…like the welts you left on my hand!” 

Nazir stepped in between them and held a halting hand up to both. 

“Enough,” he demanded, “Sweet Mother's patience, how is this guild staying a float with this constant nonsense?”

Once satisfied that their silence meant the squabble was done, Nazir let his hands down and addressed the Listener yet again.

“Are you serious about bringing Kor?” he asked, “Not that I intend my questions to be, well, questioning your reasoning abilities…but he is a new initiate.”

“Yes, he is,” Tressa nodded, “And one that has been circling the drain.” 

Kor popped to attention at that.

“Hey, wait, what?” he said with surprise. 

“Yes,” Tressa nodded at him, “The disrespect and having shown no particular desire to prove yourself to Mother, Sithis, or just us. No noteworthy contracts. You're practically just Aphid's, lazy, shadow.”

Kor looked to Aphid who gave him a shrug and a bit of a nod. 

The young Nord looked back to Tressa.

“So, you want me along to prove myself then?” he asked.

“Yeah, pretty much,” the Listener replied and then motioned from Cicero to him, “Plus, if you do prove yourself to stay among us, then you two need to buddy up a little bit better.” 

“Why?” Kor asked, “You two bicker a lot. And Nazir and he are clearly not making daisy chains together.” 

“All of it as siblings do,” Tressa shrugged.

Nazir interjected once again. 

“Are you sure you want to use this unusual quest as an opportunity to bond a snake with a tadpole?” 

“No, not really,” she replied, “But if he's going to be there proving himself, they might as well learn to get along just a wee bit better….AND before you ask, I don't think I'll need more than these two. At least not until I figure out exactly what we're dealing with. I have the scrolls, so I'll pop back in, eh? No sense leaving the Sanctuary unguarded, right? I feel Mother would have at least thrown the heads up that Sybil is oh-so-powerful enough to take us all on.”

Nazir nodded, absorbing her take on it. 

“If it feels right to you, Listener, I agree then,” he said. 

“Yeah, after a thousand questions,” Tressa retorted. Nazir laughed under his breath and patted her shoulder. 

“Oh come on, no,” the young Listener swiped at the pat, “Cicero patronizes me enough.” 

She then turned her attention back to Cicero and Kor, neither of the two looked absolutely thrilled with the companion pack in place.

“Alright then,” she stated, “Let's get packing up some supplies. We work on our secret best buddy handshakes first thing in the morning and then head out!”


	4. Pack Your Bags

Chapter 4: Pack Your Bags

Tressa sat on her knees before the Night Mother's sarcophagus in prayer. She hadn't begun packing for herself yet, but had sent Cicero and Kor to pack enough necessities to hold them off from stopping at every single town to replenish. 

She did want to check merchants for more Travel Scrolls, but figured denser towns or wandering traders would be more likely to hold them—not backwood hovels.   
They would already be stopping enough along the way for rest, but she saw no need to stop at every single gathered hut from here to High Rock. 

Not that she didn't love to meander about, but she had no true gauge on the sense of urgency for this quest, thus her being before the Night Mother now. 

“Speak to me,” the Listener beckoned quietly, “......There must be more than what you've said, right? Please? ….Why send us blindly?” 

Tressa honestly wasn't expecting any sort of answer, but the raspy voice of the Unholy Matron slithered through the shut doors of her tomb. 

“You are to listen, child. But you are not yet to see,” she said, “…There are things even I… can not see. But do not worry, my child. Things I withhold from you are not to burden you. I do not worry you will fail this task.” 

The Listener's tilt of her head indicated she was not quite certain she understood any of that, but after a moment she recalled the odd dream during her rest. 

“Mother,…what must end?” Tressa asked. 

The Night Mother was silent. 

Tressa nodded, figuring the silence to be because it merely was a dream and the Night Mother had no knowledge on what she was asking of her.

The girl was about to explain her question, tell her of the dream, but the Night Mother then spoke once more. 

“Sybil…is the answer to that question, child,” she said.

It did not help Tressa's understanding one bit. 

She was downright about to beg the Night Mother to tell her with full clarification what all of it is about, but the jester's voice coming up from behind startled her. 

“Is something wrong, Listener?” he asked. 

Tressa grumbled a bit at the interruption, but not wanting to let on just how seriously concerned she was with the Night Mother's current obscurity, she joked to the funny man.

“Everything’s fine, but, have you been oiling the Night Mother… thoroughly? Or have you perhaps missed a few spots?” 

Cicero gave her a puzzled, but also agitated, look. 

“Of course Cicero has been attending to his duties, Listener!” he replied somewhat defensively and then admonished her for the joke.

“And don't make light of such a sacred task!” 

Tressa bounced it back with words she has heard him say himself.  
“Oh? …Got all those…hard to reach places, then?” 

The jester simply hmphed, but then knocked her with his boot lightly and extended a hand. 

“What's worrying you so?” he asked as the girl took his hand to get up from her knees.  
He questioned further.   
“The Night Mother has been speaking to you, correct,” he ended up stating more than asking.

“Yes,” Tressa answered, “Even now, before you so kindly interrupted…It's just…she's being so…peculiar? So concealed.”

Cicero blew a quick breath from his nose in amusement. 

“Oh is she, Ms. Pot-Kettle Black?” he teased at her own concealment. 

“Oh ha-ha,” Tressa sarcastically offered a laugh to that. 

The merry man gave a small smile, then as if reading her through her mask, he sat a hand upon her shoulder.

He looked to the sarcophagus for a moment and then faced the young Listener.

“We do as she bids,” he said, his expression steeled in seriousness, “Just remember that. She guides us with faith in our abilities and so we must have faith in her orders. If she told us to cut off our hands, well Listener, we cut off our hands. If she told us to swallow nails, it's time for lunch.…. If she told us to worry, we'll worry…. But she didn't. She has faith in you for this and more. It's why YOU’RE the Listener…and so young, too….and hardly had been in the guild that long when....ahem..anyway. You BETTER start having more faith in HER.” 

“I do!” Tressa defended. 

The jester then sat his other hand on her other shoulder, giving her a little shake.

“Then. Stop. Worrying,” he emphasized. 

Tressa sighed in annoyance causing the jester to give a smile and pat her atop the head. 

“Alrighty, Listener?” he chirped with a smile turned smirk.

The girl swatted him away.

“Ass,” she said, “…And okay, fine. Are you and Kor done readying up our supplies?” 

“Cicero is,” the jester nodded.

“And Kor?” Tressa asked.   
The jester tossed his hands up in a shrug. 

Tressa shook her head.

“Really?” she complained, “Am I going to have to make you two hold hands while you work together?” 

Cicero made a disgusted face.   
“Cicero would be delighted to frolic, but he's thinking more along the lines of that darling cheese monger in Markarth and not….with that,” he stuck his tongue out in disgust at the thought of Kor.

Tressa began to laugh but then gasped and clutched Cicero's sleeves.

“Oh! Oh no!” the girl exhaled in fret, “Aw, Cicero, I forgot!” 

The man looked quite concerned. 

“What? What is it?” he asked anxiously. 

“Babette killed your cheese monger,” Tressa squeaked out quickly. 

“WHAT?!” the jester shrieked, “Nooo!” 

Tressa released his sleeves and fiddled with her own sleeves nervously.

“Uh, yeah. Y-you see, um, there was a contract…,” she began to explain but Cicero shook his head and waved his hands vigorously.

“No, no, no, no. Cicero mustn't hear this, no!” he said in distraught. 

“I'm sorry,” Tressa meekly offered condolences, “…Um….Babette said she went clean….If that sets your mind at…cheese?”

“That is NOT funny!” Cicero snapped then pointed at her with realization, “W-wait, it's a joke. Then you're pulling Cicero's leg about--.” 

“No, she's dead.” 

“WHO WOULD PUT A HIT ON A CHEESE MONGER?!” Cicero swung his hands about wildly, causing Tressa to step back.

“I don't know!” she replied as she held her hands up in defense, “…..Rival cheese stalls?”

The jester let out a frustrated growl but simmered down and slumped a bit in mourning.

“Cicero will surely miss that stall,” he sighed. 

“So her? Oor her cheese?” Tressa asked.

“Yes,” he said with no separation of the two. 

“Aw, Cicero,..” the Listener spoke sympathetically and carefully reached out and patted his arm, “…Everything is going to Brie alright…”

His hand shot up and snatched her arm so fast, she swear she didn't even see a glimpse of the move itself.

She regretted the attempt to joke with the jester now that he was staring her down like this.

“Listener…,” he said with maliciousness on his tongue, Tressa was slowly trying to slip her arm from his grip, but then she saw the corners of his lips upturn and he whispered, “…Your jokes aren't that gouda…”

He released her arm and began to walk away snickering to himself. 

Tressa was frozen for a moment but then squeaked a quick, short laugh and followed him.

“Oooh. Oh yeah?” she said, “You are the jester here, after all. I guess I'll take your curd for it.” 

She saw his shoulders twitch a bit trying not to laugh at her, but he did look over a shoulder as they walked down the stairs to the commons and replied, “Yes, Cicero's jokes are the grate..est.” 

“I don't think Eidar of those cut it,” Babette joined in as she had been leaning up against the wall at the bottom of the stairs; most likely eavesdropping the shouting she heard above moments ago. 

Cicero jumped the last few steps to stomp both feet upon the ground in front of Babette.   
“YOU!” he shouted fiercely.   
He leaned over her, his stern finger inches from her face and eyes full of fury, but then he started to chortle and chuckle.

“Hahaha, oh! EIDAR. Hahahaha! That's a good one!” he laughed and turned heel, continuing to guffaw as he walked away.

Tressa stepped from the stairs to follow and heard Nazir, who was propped back at the table and smoking on more rolled tobacco, offer in one more joke for them. He was actually one to enjoy puns and wordplay, after all. 

“I don't think that could have went over any cheddar,” he said and Cicero didn't miss it as he pointed to the Redguard with one loud HA. 

The Redguard began to point back but let it fall limp and fixed his eyes on Tressa. 

“Have you decided a route of travel?” he asked. 

“No, not yet, not a solid one at least” she replied, “Where's that lazy Nord?”

She was startled by a pack being tossed from the hallway. 

Kor stepped out following it, smirking at his achievement in making her flinch.

“Just finished lazily packing my personal bag,” he said. 

Tressa growled but skipped over berating him for making her jump and instead berated him for not doing as asked earlier. 

“And just why didn't you help Cicero with our measly main supplies?” she asked firmly. 

Kor arched a brow and gave a small shake of the head. 

“He's the one that sent me away. Told me to let him do it himself,” he explained. 

Tressa half turned and locked her masked face on Cicero. 

Her expression was hidden, of course, but he knew she was giving him a look of disapproval. 

The jester gave a small shrug and responded, “Cicero apologizes, but he didn't want the boy to pack nothing but…what is it young Nord men are obsessed with? Mead and ale…and maybe brandy and more mead. Perhaps another splash of ale. Crudely, barely written love letters to their own overcompensation. And maybe a sliver of pie-ah, nope-more mead.” 

Kor shot his eyes up to the ceiling in a sigh of indignation. 

Tressa, being a bit annoyed at this growing reluctance to cooperate with each other and having took slight offense to Cicero's stigmatization, turned to him fully and said: “You should probably know that I, myself, didn't properly learn to read and write until the last few years. In fact, you do know it. I've mentioned it before when we lived in Falkreath.”

Cicero cocked his head at her sudden take of offense. 

“Cicero is sorry, my Listener,” he apologized.

“Oh!” Kor clapped and pointed, “Are you a Nord?! An itty bitty Nord?!”

“I was slaved with no privilege to proper education,” she replied, clearly irritated, and drew her masked face back on Cicero, “Do you view me worthy of criticism and disdain for that?” 

He shook his head and held a hand to his heart to appear genuine. 

“I'm sorry, my Listener,” he said, apologizing once more,“Utmost sincerity, I am.” 

Tressa did a quiet inhale, realizing she was showing a sensitivity she did not intend to.

“Aaaah, gotcha!” she said, feigning a laugh, “Ha! Your face. You looked so worried.” 

Cicero pursed his lips in an unimpressed pout. 

Tressa jabbed at him further to dissipate any remaining heavy air around them.

“And just what did YOU pack, huh?” she said, “An abundant supply of bad jokes…and carrots? …You know I don't like carrots...” 

The jester quipped back, “The carrots are for me. The bad jokes for you. And Cicero brimmed full the bag with those.” 

“Fantastic! I do love those good bad jokes!” Tressa held a thumb up in approval. Cicero gave her a thumbs down in return, accompanied with a raspy blow of his tongue. 

The girl revoked her approving thumb &nbspand now flipped him the bird before putting her attention back on preparations. 

“Anyone got a decent map?” she asked as she pulled a crumpled, heavily marked map of hers out from a pocket and lazily tossed it on the ground.

“Over here,” Nazir said unpropping himself from his reclined position, “I’ve been routing this one here for you to look at. It's why I asked about your travel plan.”

Tressa sat by him at the table to overlook the map with him and hear his suggestions. 

The Redguard didn’t seem bothered by her scooting practically up against him and went about tapping the map in various spots.

“There are quite a few ways to get to Evermor from here,” he said and then dragged his finger along the coastline, “ ….Putting Skyrim's uncomfortable icy ocean wind around these parts aside, it would be somewhat a straight cut to High Rock to take a coastal route past Solitude and make way to Jehanna and go south, but, I don't recommend that. And I don't recommend crossing the border on a main, trade, or ship route. You know, what with this even more heightened turmoil of war going on right now. Take main roads all the way TO the border if you want, but I'd suggest tucking away to cross over. That being said, I know Markarth and its surrounding area is trechy and well guarded itself, but it's mountainous terrain is just as easy to lose cover as it is to expose it. And it's The Reach. Evermor isn't extraordinarily far from that point on.” 

“Markarth,” Tressa said pointly and then looked up at Cicero who had came up behind her a moment before to look at the map as well. 

He was leaning over her side, opposite of Nazir, so when he noticed her attention on him, he stepped back figuring she was about to snark at him for personal space-- despite her being in Nazir’s--but she instead said, “Oooo, you can put some flowers on your lovely cheese lady's grave.” 

Cicero made a sort of “kuh" sound, like an unamused laugh.

“Haha, yes, my dearest monger of dairy-snack is dead,” he tried to deadpan the joke but his snickering bled through at the end and he added in, “Can we ladle some fondue over her tombstone in memoriam?”

Kor, who was just now taking a seat at the table to join in, attempted to add his own joke to the conversation.

“Would it be the first time you've ladled a lady with something warm and gooey--”

“SO Markarth route, then?” Nazir spoke over him. 

“Yes, that seems fine,” Tressa nodded, ignoring Kor as well. 

The Nord once again rolled his eyes to the ceiling and sat his elbow atop the table to plop his chin in hand with a huff. 

Cicero gave him barely a glance and just focused on Nazir speaking with Tressa.

“So….Why not just use one of the Travel Scrolls to go straight to Markarth and travel from there?” the Redguard asked.

Tressa lightly backhanded his chest.

“The fact that Babette said these scrolls are fairly new, and the fact you don't see everyone and their pet skeever popping in and out everywhere, tells me these are pretty hard to come by. I asked her about the spell itself before going to pray to Mother and she admitted that it's usually only those who are masters of arcane that can properly weave portals, least you be spliced or other apparently horrific things that can happen,” Tressa explained. 

Nazir wrapped an arm around her as if to be assuring.

“So are you just afraid to use them now then, little one?” he said, a note of laughter on his tongue. 

Tressa made a hissing sigh under her mask.

“No! I am conserving them!” she insisted, “Call it a gut instinct. Something is beckoning me not to use them just yet.”

Nazir made a sound of acknowledgment and gave her a genuinely assuring pat on the back.

“Alright, my Listener,” he said, “I understand trusting your gut very well.”

He removed his hand from her and leaned forward on the table; his expression showing he still had one more concern.

“But I still don't understand why you haven't asked Weylen along,” the Redguard said, “He is from High Rock, after all. Farrun, I believe he's mentioned.”

“Ah ah,” Tressa waved a finger and made an exaggerated mock of Weylen's voice.

“Wasted my whole life in Farrun,” she said as Weylen,” it's why I'm so used to this damned unending cold.—grump, grump, grump.”

She then reverted back to her normal voice, “I only asked him if he knew who Sybil was on the chance she was known throughout all of High Rock….”

Tressa then poked Nazir with her elbow.

“I mean, don't let Weylen know just how much his grieving puts me in a gloom….I just don't really want to hear all that mopey, grouchy, grumpy, woe-is-me while I'm already going to be wrangling these two to get along.” 

Nazir looked at her masked face with partial understanding, but also looked as if he wanted to speak more on the matter with her; however, he decided it best to respect her decisions and nodded. 

“Alright then,” he said, “…I guess you're just about ready to do this thing.” 

“Mhm,” the girl nodded back, “Just got to get my little personal pack packed and then it's bedtime for tonight and heading out in the morning--what's for breakfast, by the way?” 

Nazir smiled, “Omelets, my girl! With a side of butter seared elk straps and crispy toast.” 

“Oooh, yummy!” Tressa clapped, “Make me extra, please?” 

The Redguard’s smile widened even further, he couldn't hide his pride when the others enjoyed his cooking.

“Of course, my Listener,” he answered happily and playfully pushed her when she stood from her chair to walk away. 

The nudge in turn caused her to misstep into Cicero, who caught her, but still staggered a bit from the unexpected impact. 

She then pushed him and said, “Geez, watch where you're going.” 

He feigned offense.

“Me? You're the one who bumped into Cicero!” he said, “Can't you see?”

Tressa laughed, “I'm the LISTENER. Not the SEE-ER.”

It produced a simmered laugh from both Cicero and Nazir and the jester gave her a push then too.

“Good luck packing then, Listen-no-see-er,” he said. 

“I'll manage,” she replied and gave a little wave, “Good night, guys.” 

“Good night, Listener,” Nazir bid her farewell for the night. 

“Nighty-night,” Cicero also bid her.

She suddenly pointed at him firmly.

“You,” she stated, “Get some sleep tonight, Cicero. I know you're going to be sleeping far less than you already do, what with Kor tagging along, you paranoid goat.” 

Cicero gave a jesting nag-nag motion with his hand in response but nodded regardless. 

Tressa turned to Kor, who was still sitting with chin in hand, as if despondent, and gave him a bidding wave as well. 

“Goodnight, Kor,” she said.

The Nord suddenly straightened up.

“Oh, uh, goodnight, Listener,” he responded like he was surprised she didn't throw in sarcasm, shoo him, or simply ignore him. 

He watched as she walked away to the hall that leads to the resting quarters and he suddenly felt watched too as he turned his attention back on Cicero and Nazir, both of who were looking at him with the tell-tell sign between men that they knew what he was really focused on. 

“No,” he stated to them both, “Not what I was looking at. My mind was simply wandering.” 

“Mmhm,” Nazir nodded in a very unconvincing way. 

Cicero rolled his eyes.  
“Awe. Young love. Obscenely lustful,… but has its sweet moments.” 

Kor rolled his eyes as well and wanted to depart to the initiate quarters, but he was giving Tressa enough time to clear ahead so these two didn't make remarks next about him following her. 

He instead went to the pack he had thrown on the floor earlier and pretended to sort it while waiting for the two other men to disperse their attentions elsewhere and for Tressa to be well in her room before he headed to his quarters. 

“Skeevers, the lot of ya,” he grumbled.


	5. So Long Farewell

Chapter 5: So Long, Farewell

Tressa awoke to the sound of Cicero's rhythmic knocking on her door. 

He was apparently on a repeated round of it, possibly twice over, as she heard his voice sing-song with a concerned air and he was using her name now instead of her title.

“Tressaaa~,” he called, “Are you alive-aaa~?” 

Tressa snapped up. She felt the grogginess of having slept too hard dissipating from her mind and realized she had fallen asleep in her mask as well. 

She adjusted it, as it was slightly stuck to the skin on her face, and inhaled a deep breath to release a long yawn. 

She didn't realize just how tired she had been after arriving home only yesterday and now they were setting out on a journey this morning. 

Cicero's knock lost its rhythm now as he gave a hard three bangs this time. 

Tressa swung her legs from her bed.  
“I'm up! I'm up!” she called. 

“Oh, good!” the jester's voice rang through, “Cicero didn't want to lockpick your door if you were only sleeping as heavy as a horker.” 

Tressa stood and stretched and answered back as she did.

“Cicero, my door is also chain latched,” she said, “Don't break your leg kicking--"

“Are you covered? You have your mask on?” the jester asked.

Tressa tilted her head at the question. 

“Yes,” she responded and was going to ask why he asked her that, but she saw the very tip of his dagger suddenly slip through between the tight closure of the door frame and door. 

The dagger tip perfectly found itself in a link of the door chain and he gave a quick slip down, breaking the chain entirely. 

The handle of the door then turned as he apparently had it lock picked already and he swung the door open. 

Tressa tossed her hand up.

“What?!” she said in amazement, “My, my! Slick you are!”

She then; however, put her hands on her hips in a stern manner. 

“But you are getting me a new door latch,” she demanded, “And, like, 7 to 10 more, and some bolts, after we get back from this trip.” 

“Sure thing, my Listener,” Cicero chirped happily as he bent down and picked up the platter of breakfast he had come to bring her, “Rise and shine. It's breakfast time~!” 

“Thank you, grand Keeper of the Matron and food escort extraordinaire,” Tressa bowed.

“You're welcome, lazy bones Listener,” Cicero replied in turn and set the platter down on Tressa’s desk nearby. 

She stepped down from the raised area of her bedroom and looked over the platter of food.

“Oh, yay! Nazir did give me extra!” she said in delight. 

“Mhm, enjoy-enjoy,” the jester nodded and then reached into his satchel, “Aaaand Cicero has a surprise for you~.” 

“Oh?” Tressa turned her head with curiosity. 

He pulled from the pouch a plump and ripe orange. 

Tressa gasped and pointed, even bouncing a bit in excitement.

“Where did you get that?!” she asked in surprise. 

Cicero chuckled at her reaction and then answered her question.

“Tsuni got worried about you 3 days ago, went on a quick trek and happened upon a broad travel merchant with out-of-province goods,” he explained, “And when Cicero saw she had oranges, he just had to save one for you,.. though admittedly he had almost forgotten about it….Consider it an extension of my apology for yesterday.” 

“Hmm? Apology?”

“For offending you, Listener,” he responded. 

“Huh? Oh! No, it was just a joke, Cicero. I was only jesting with you, jester,” Tressa waved her hands.

He only gave a slight arch of his brow and extended the orange to her.

She gave a shrugging nod and snatched it.

“Yes though, gimme that orange,” she said, “..Delicious godly nectar of sweet Nirn.” 

Cicero gave a smile of amusement and began to turn away to leave her be, but she tugged his arm to turn him back.

“Wait, wait,” Tressa said and stepped closer to his face, the dark lenses of her mask reflecting his questioning expression. 

“Yes, Listener?” he asked as he leaned back a slight to inch away from her stare down—or stare up in her case. It was a bit unnerving. 

“You look a little tired,” she finally answered and then spoke firmly, “Did you go to sleep last night?” 

“Yes… I did,” he replied. 

“How long?” Tressa pressed. 

“A grand magnificent, whopping tally total of two hours,” the jester answered honestly. 

“Cicero…,” the Listener sighed. 

“What?” he said defensively, “Perhaps it's you spiriting away my sandman during the nights you sleep like a torpid drunkard.” 

“Just…,” Tressa shook her head, “Get some sleep at some point on this trip. You get so mean the more tired you get.” 

“I do not,” he said, ”Cicero's tired now and you got an orange.”

“You were pretty tired at the College,” Tressa replied, “…And what did I get then?” 

Cicero let out a breath of exasperation.

“One would think,” he said, “that you couldn't hold on to that so tightly if your hand hurt as much as you say it did.”

Tressa mocked a laugh and the sound of her blowing her tongue came from under her mask. 

Cicero exaggerated an irritated frown and said, “Imp.” 

He turned away now and headed for her door. 

“See you after breakfast, my Listener,” he bid farewell, “Enjoy your orange.” 

“I will!” Tressa responded as if mad but added, “Thank you!”

Cicero gave a wave goodbye and shut the door on his way out, leaving her to her privacy. 

After she finished her breakfast and freshened up, she headed to the commons with her personal backpack slung over a shoulder and toting her empty breakfast platter in the other hand. 

Once entered into the main room, she tossed the platter into the wash bucket as usual and looked about to see Cicero and Kor actually conversing with each other while they were packing a few more things into the mutual supply bag, and they didn't seem to be in a heated jab for jab. 

Tressa nodded and mumbled to herself, “Good, yay.” 

She was then startled when the deep voice of Nazir popped up beside her.

“Good morning, Listener. Sleep well?” he asked and then apologized when he noticed her twitchy jump, “Oh..sorry, kid, didn't mean to sneak up.” 

“…Good morning, Nazir,” she said with slim irritation but pepped up and added, “Thank you for those delicious extras!”

“You're most certainly welcome,” he replied with a broad smile, “And there's still plenty of elk strap left. Aphid did splendidly on that hunting trip he took. Would you like me to wrap you a pack to take with you?” 

Tressa snapped the fingers of one of her hands and pointed at the man.

“Yes!” she said enthusiastically. 

He gave her a nodding smile and shoulder pat as he walked away to attend to the wrapping of said food pack. 

Tressa refocused on Cicero and Kor and walked over to them, catching the tail end of their conversation as Cicero was insisting to Kor, through a chuckle, that he had saved the Listener once from a giant attack by castrating the enormous thing’s…things.

“You did not!” Kor exclaimed and then noticed Tressa, “Did he?!”

Tressa nodded.

“Oh yes, he did. He really did,” she laughed, “It was glorious.” 

Kor seemed to wince in his own personal region.

“No!” he replied, “Horrifying!” 

Cicero did a smug smile and said, “As that may be, our precious Listener would have been crushed to death if I hadn’t done SOMETHING. It was the quickest, most damaging thing to do and Cicero nearly died heroically doing it! Those legs snapped close so fast, hero Cicero narrowly escaped being crushed himself.”

Kor’s sickened expression didn't leave his face as he noticeably stood his legs closer together.

Cicero gave him a jolly jabbing with his elbow. 

“By the way, no one is in the market for giant juggling balls,” he said and laughed almost maniacally, “Alchemist wouldn't even take them. No mortar and pestle big enough! HAhahaha!” 

Kor offered a bit of a nervous laugh but was obviously still reeling on thinking about the image of the savage event.

Tressa was laughing gleefully but did comment on the grossness of the jokes. 

The merriment simmered down and Tressa did a quick look over the pack to make sure she was satisfied with their job. 

“I'm glad you two are getting along already,” she said, commenting on both their conversing and working together. 

“Hmm?” the jester responded and then did an uninterested in the conversation sort of scratch at his jaw, “Probably just a fluke.” 

Kor nodded, “I agree.” 

Cicero held his hands out in a what-are-you-doing stance and said, “No, don't agree with me! You're proving her point right now!”

Kor's desire to irritate Cicero overrode his desire to agitate Tressa so he nodded once again.

“That's true,” he said, “I gotta to agree to that.” 

Cicero narrowed his eyes on him. 

“Oh, Cicero is going to end up stabbing you before we even get a mile away,” he grouched. 

Kor shrugged, “Yes, probably.” 

“Perhaps castrate,” the jester added, getting a visible shutter from Kor as the Nord nearly instantly disagreed. 

“Ha, finally!” Cicero sneered, “Now we're back in lovely disagreement.”

“Yes, I agree,” Kor bounced back once again causing Cicero to turn a circle in a quick fit of annoyance. 

Tressa was holding a hand to her head in annoyance at herself for speaking well on their comradery too soon. 

“Okay, enough…,” she sighed, “So, are we ready to take this best friends forever festival on the road now?” 

“Cicero is ready whenever you say go, my Listener,” the jester said with a smile. 

Kor tossed a shoulder instead and began walking away towards the hall, “I gotta say bye to my brother first.” 

Tressa nodded, “Of course, understandably. …Just like I have got to hug that Sunny before we go. Where is that soft bundle of honey glazed fur, anyway?”

Cicero pointed up towards the upper level.

“Up there,” he said, “Helping the little unchild carry in a blood bag.” 

“Oh, Babette's breakfast!” Tressa snickered, “Or…dinner? Anyway, I'm going to go start saying my see-you-laters to everyone. You coming?” 

Cicero gave a semi-uninterested shrug but nodded nonetheless. 

Tressa slapped him lightly on the bicep and trotted off to Nazir.

The Redguard was propped back at the table now and smoking on his tobacco. 

As she approached, he pointed to the wrapped up food he had set on the end for her. She clapped happily and pointed too as she neared it. 

“Thank you, Nazir,” she said, “Already can't wait to get back to your yummy dinners.” 

“Heh, thank you, my Listener,” he said, “And you're welcome…Safe travels now.” 

“Mhm,” Tressa nodded and they gave each other a bump of forearms as she bid him farewell, “See you.”   
“Yeah. See you, kid.”

She turned away and handed Cicero the food wrap to put away in the main pack that he was side-toting to take up the stairs. 

He and Nazir gave each other a mutual nod of farewell, but they otherwise said nothing to each other. 

Tressa and the jester then made their way up the steps. Cicero was close behind, not slacking a step, despite him looking rather loaded down.   
He didn't appear bothered by it, as he's usually the pack mule on their adventures.

Once atop the stairs, Tressa rounded to the open door that led into the very first entry room from the main Sanctuary entrance.

That was where Babette and Tsuni were with Babette's lifeless catch laid upon a table at the side of the room. 

“Hi, Listener,” Babette smiled as Tressa came up to them. The unchild's red eyes and sharp fangs popping gleefully from just feasting upon her meal. 

Tsuni greeted the Listener as well with a respectful head bow and smile.   
“My Listener.”

“Good evening, Babette. Good morning, Sunny,” Tressa greeted both in return, “I see you brought home your cooking this time, little grandma.” 

“Mm, yep,” the unchild replied, “Food and fun. I've got some alchemy tests to run by our catch here.” 

“That does sound fun,” Tressa commented, “You'll have to tell me if anything exploded when we get back.” 

Babette nodded, “I will not spare a single grisly detail, my Listener….Stay safe out there.” 

Tressa stepped over and did a leaning hug on the vampire, who was pretending it was awful. 

“And miss out on my own grisly details?” the Listener said, “…But no worries, little grandma, we'll be good.” 

Tressa’s face then targeted Tsuni and the masked girl straightened from her hug on the unchild and extended her arms out to the Khajit. 

“You know I gotta,” Tressa said to which Tsuni nodded with a soft laugh and opened her arms as well. 

Tressa ran into an embrace with the Khajit and held tightly, rubbing her masked face against the tufts of fur on the side of Tsuni's head as if she could actually feel it.

Tressa released her and sighed happily, “I've gone this long without removing my mask in front of any of you, but you are so tempting. Too tempting. I just got to feel that fur!” 

The Listener made a motion as if she was about to pop her mask off, but then laughed and shook her head. 

“Aah, maybe when we get back,” she said, “A welcoming hug with that silky fur seems like good enough motivation to not die on this quest.”

Babette puh’d as if defeated from not seeing Tressa's face, “Damn. So close.” 

“Patience, little grandma,” the Listener tsked, “You've had centuries to practice it.” 

The sound of Cicero dropping the main pack on the floor grabbed the other three's attention as they looked to see him eyeing Tsuni with curiosity. 

He stepped forward towards the Khajit and addressed her.

“Alright, Tsuni,” he said with a determination, “This is now clawing at Cicero. What sort of enchantment is drawing us to your fur? …May I?” 

He opened his arms in request for a hug now as well. 

The Khajit obliged, allowing him to embrace her as Tressa did. 

“Oooh!” the jester spoke with surprised delight as he gave Tsuni's tuft a little rub with his cheek, “Oh, Listener. You're missing out! This is the softest thing Cicero has ever felt in his ENTIRE life! I don't know if I can pull away from this now! Cicero might stay!” 

Tressa shook her head. 

“Nice try,” she said, “You're just trying to get me to take off my mask now.”

“Eh, it was worth a shot,” the jester nodded and released Tsuni from his embrace.

He patted the Khajit's arm however and commented, “She IS incredibly soft, though.” 

“Mmhm,” Tressa nodded, “All the more reason NOT to die before I get to feel that fur.” 

Tsuni nodded with a smile and bowed her head once more. 

“Tsuni wishes you both safe travels,” she said.

“Thank you, Sunny,” Tressa gave a slight bow of her head in return. 

The Listener then folded her arms and asked, “Is Weylen awake? Perhaps I should give the grouch a goodbye hug too. Lighten him up.”

Tsuni answered her. 

“He was still asleep when Tsuni left the quarters.”

“Yeah, I am NOT waking that up,” Tressa responded quickly, “Bid him my farewells later….But I probably should go say bye to Aphid and make sure Kor isn't dragging his lazy feet. Cicero, if you're coming, leave that pack here. No sense bringing it back and forth, through and through.”

“No, Cicero's fine waiting right here,” he said, “…But don't YOU keep us holed up much longer either, lazy bones Listener.” 

She mimicked the nag-nag motion he had done last night to her, except she vocally said the words with it as her mouth couldn't be seen. 

She then departed from the room, and after looking down into the commons to make sure Kor and Aphid hadn't moved that way, she went the bridge route to see if they were in their quarters--or anywhere between. 

As she neared the suspended bridge, she heard Aphid speaking to Kor below in a quiet tone. She silenced her movement and inched carefully closer to the bridge.

“You CAN, brother,” she heard him saying, “You can do this. This is your chance and probably the only chance. Prove yourself to ME, would you.” 

She assumed the hushness was to mask the tenderness between these Nord men and the apparent anxiousness of Kor. 

She heard Kor whispering back now.

“Aphid. I just…I'm not like you. I'm not like them, either, but I—”

“You have to do this, Kor,” Aphid cut him off strictly, “We can not lose each other. Right, brother?” 

“….Right…”

Tressa thought it must be nice to have somebody looking out for you like that.   
Only when she joined the Brotherhood, a murderous organization no less, did she eventually feel like she was truly kindling friendships.  
She honestly viewed some of them now, like Cicero, Babette, Nazir and even Tsuni, as family. 

Whether they felt the same, no matter how telling their actions, she'd never intend to ask them. 

She didn't want to know if it was just purely out of respect-and toleration- for being the Listener. 

Tressa didn't know why, but she felt the need to interrupt their brotherly moment now. 

She stepped out onto the bridge and called down below, “Are you two going to kiss now—or what?” 

Both the Nord men jumped and reacted at ready—Aphid looking more fired up than Tressa recalls ever seeing the mellow Nord be. 

“Sorry,” she said, “Can't waste good opportunities, you know.” 

The men were silent for a moment, but then Aphid blinked back to his usual calm demeanor and looked at the younger Nord.

“Exactly, Kor,” he said, “Go on now. And stay alive, will ya?” 

“I very much intend to,” Kor said, almost seeming agitated.

The brothers shared a head bump and Kor then looked up to Tressa. 

“We ready, Listener?” he asked. 

She waved towards her side. 

“You go on ahead,” she said, “Cicero's waiting at the entrance. You two can chat some more while I say bye to Aphid.” 

Kor gave her an arched brow. 

“He's right here,” he said, “You can say bye now.”

“Go, Kor,” Tressa pointed, “I'm trying to talk about you behind your back. Must I spell it out…because I'm not sure I can spell gossip…Is it like gauze and a sip? I'm kidding, of course, I know how to spell it. G-E-T O-U-T. GO!” 

Kor stared at her unamused for a moment and then walked away after giving Aphid one last pat on the arm. 

Tressa watched him leave out through the hall that heads to the commons and then turned her attention to Aphid, who was readying to practice his bow with the target boards below. 

“If it's any consolation,” she began, “..I do kind of like him. So I’m not rooting, or looking for, his failure.” 

Aphid nodded and gave a small smile, letting loose an arrow directly into the bull’s-eye of a board. 

“Same here,” he said. 

“And it's just some kidnapping,” Tressa added in jokingly, “He looks like he could lift a person, I'm sure…at least a moderately sized mudcrab… I say all he's gotta do is hold the lady while we slice, dice, and burn anyone trying to stop us. And then poof, we're back here….I'll watch out for him.”

Aphid nodded.

“Thank you, my Listener,” he said, “..Stay safe. And thank you for giving Kor this chance.” 

“Mmhm, see you later,” she replied with a wave of her fingers. 

She turned and began to head back the way she came but was abruptly startled by the shirk of an arrow breaking right into the wall of the bridge entrance in front of her. 

“SITHIS’S COIN-PURSE!” Tressa cussed as she jumped back, quickly collected herself, and stomped the bridge to look back down at Aphid. 

He stood with his bow lowered and that partial smile on his face. 

“Opportunities, my Listener,” he said, “…But I do apologize….I put a parting gift on the shaft. Cicero says you like them. I didn't want to offend Tsuni, but I do not.” 

Tressa turned her head back to the arrow embedded in the wall and now noticed the punctured orange on its shaft. 

“Um…thanks,” she said as she approached it and slid the orange from the arrow in an agitated yank, “…But please do not join in on this jump-goes-the-Listener game everyone else seems to have so much fun with.”

“I apologize,” Aphid said again. 

“See you then,” Tressa bid with a bit of a colder tone now but then resumed her usual laxity, “Thanks for the orange, though!” 

She left Aphid to his practice, although he clearly was a master of the art, and headed back to her two awaiting companions. 

It was finally time to head out.

Weylen would just have to have no hard feelings that no one said goodbye to him. 


	6. Horseplay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author's note: Yes, hi. Sorry for the interruption. I just want to drop a clarification about travel times ahead. For more realistic purposes, I am expanding distances by a great degree. In-game, due to mechanics, things can seem practically spitting distance from each other. But here, it can be hours away….Just wanted to throw that out there. Also, sorry, I didn't proofread myself much here. Have a lot going on this week. Sorry, sorry.)

Chapter 6: Horseplay

Tressa made her way back to where Babette and Tsuni were and noticed neither Cicero nor Kor were there. 

The Listener made a small huff and put her hands to her hips.

“Don't tell me they ran off into the sunrise together without me,” she said. 

Babette smirked.

“You missed the serenade too,” the unchild replied. 

“Damn, I always miss the serenades,” Tressa said with false sadness.

Taking leave, she gave a wave and began to head out, but Babette spoke up again.

“Ahem,” she cleared her throat, “You're forgetting to say bye to someone….”

Tressa tilted her head at the undead girl. 

Babette added in with a semi-singsong voice, “Cicero told me to remind you.” 

“Oooooh,” the Listener realized and shook her head, “Of course, of course.”

She popped her head back into the opened upper level, turning it towards the sarcophagus.

“Goodbye, Mooother,” she said and spun back around, “There. Done. Not like she'd take offense and Cicero's not even in here.” 

“He'd know,” Babette insisted. 

“….Yeah, he would somehow,” Tressa agreed. 

She gave another, and this time final, wave goodbye to Babette and Tsuni.

“See you guys when we see you,” she said and headed out towards the door. 

Once outside, she noticed only Cicero in waiting. 

He was leaning up against a nearby rock, staring up at the pinkish glow of the dawning sun persisting through the icy mist and he whistled a slow tune.

He either heard the Sanctuary door open or sensed somebody there, as his eyes quickly fell upon Tressa. 

“Oh!” he snapped to attention, “You've finally come out. Cicero has missed you terribly so. It's been such a long, cruel absence without you."

“Ha. Haha. Ha,” Tressa spat a laugh drenched in sarcasm, “…Where's Kor?” 

Cicero made a motion with his thumb to point beyond the outcrop, towards the town of Dawnstar.

“Cicero sent him to get a horse of his own,” the jester said. 

“Of his own?” Tressa repeated, “Oh come on, Cicero, he can at least ride in the cart with--"   
“Summon Shadowmere.”  
“Nooo.” 

“Yes, my Listener,” Cicero nodded, folding his arms and turning to her fully, “You need to learn how to ride a horse. You can't keep relying on public carts for our line of work, you know.”

Tressa folded her arms in return and the jester seemed to know she was pouting like a child under that mask. 

“No worries, young Listener,” he said with a cheeky smile and patted the top of her head, “Cicero will teach you without ridicule.” 

She frantically swatted at his patting hand as if he were a bee. 

“Oh, do not start our day like this,” she blew with irritation. 

The merryman chuckled but then said once again, “Summon Shadowmere.”. 

Tressa stood stubborn for a moment and then sighed. 

“Fine,” she grumbled, “But you need to come off this habit of bossing ME around…..you're not my real mother.…”

She then called upon the horse to awaken from its rest in the void. 

Tressa may be hesitant to ride the beast, but she did adore his dramatic entries.

His thundering hooves and distant neigh could be heard drawing near as a dark cloud of smoke materialized from the very air. 

Within a moment, the steed burst through the very fabric of the realms and stood magnificently proud in front of the two children of Sithis. 

Cicero greeted the steed with a gentle patting on his neck.

“Hello, beautiful. Sleep well?” he asked as the horse neighed softly and lowered its head to allow Cicero to pet its snout. 

Tressa reached over and petted along the side of Shadowmere’s face, under his eye, but even through her covered guise, her caution bled through. 

“Don't be so scared, Listener,” Cicero said, grabbing her arm and guiding her to pet the horse gently from between the eyes to the tip of the nose, “Shadowmere does like you, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tressa replied, “But he likes you better.” 

“Oh, fah, Listener. Come on now,” the jester jested, “No one likes Cicero better.” 

“I like you better than anyone on the list of people I like,” Tressa responded, “And there's not many on my list to begin with.” 

Cicero reeled back and put a hand to his heart. 

“…Don't make Cicero cry in front of the horse,” he said, as if touched by the statement, but then suddenly steeled himself, “Flattery isn't going to get you out of this lesson.”

“Yeah, I know,” the girl waved dismissively, “..I'm going to be the one crying in front of the horse…”

“Well, good thing for the mask then,” Cicero chirped, thumping her directly on the nose. 

Tressa stumbled back, clasping her hands to the mask.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, “It's not so thick that I didn't feel that!” 

“Oopsie,” the jester shrugged.

Kor finally reappeared from his fetching of a horse, with said horse in tow.

Tressa and Cicero both did a small snort of a laugh upon seeing the palomino mare.   
Snowberries were laced prettily within her braided mane and tail, and it certainly added to the elegance of the beautiful beast. 

The Nord looked unashamed as he noticed their reaction.

“What?” Kor questioned the snickering duo, “She's gorgeous.” 

The duo nodded and Cicero replied, “That she is. Cicero does find her quite adorable. I do believe the Listener thinks so as well, it's just…”

Kor held a hand up to halt him.

“It's just that you didn't expect a rough and hardy young Nord fella to pick such a fanciful beaut,” he said, “Yes, I get it. But even I can't say no to such doey eyes. Look at her. Look at those silky orbs.” 

Tressa shrugged but nodded, while Cicero honestly couldn't resist walking over and fawning at the precious creature.  
Shadowmere only gave an uninterested blow of his nose and turned his attention elsewhere. 

“Her name's Snowberry,” Kor said.

“Aaah?” Cicero quipped sarcastically as he pet the pretty mare, “Cicero would have never of thought that.”

“Ha, yes,” the Nord tossed his head, “We going?....Wait, are you two going to share a horse?”

“Yes,” the jester nodded, “If the Listener is taking opportunities on this quest, then Cicero is taking one as well and teaching her how to finally reign a ride.”

Kor looked at Tressa who almost seemed to be trying to scoot behind Shadowmere and out of the Nord's view. 

“You don't know how to ride a horse?” Kor smirked. 

The Listener stepped back out into view with a stomp of her foot.

“I've ridden plenty of times!” she snapped, “These beasts are just hard to stay on! I don't think they are meant for small persons!”

Cicero responded quickly, “I'm small and do just fine.”

It did nothing but produce an angry growl from the girl.

Kor looked as if he was making an effort not to laugh at her.  
He spoke as soon as the shake was off his breath.

“Tres, uh, Listener, being small is actually better for the horse,” he said, “Not as stressful on them, and in turn, they'll be less likely to resist or throw you....so long as they don't think you’re a rat on their back, I guess…”

Tressa folded her arms with heated enthusiasm.

“WELL, I guess it's just ME then!” she barked. 

Cicero and Kor both nodded at the statement.   
The jester even cheekily bobbed the mare's head up and down to make even the horse nod, but once noticing he and Kor were in agreement once again, the Imperial clown made the horse vehemently shake her head.

He then released Snowberry and walked away from Kor and the mare and approached Tressa with a pat on the arm. 

“Come on now, my Listener,” he said, “You'll have it down pat in no time at all….Up, up.”

Tressa once again was hesitant.

“Go on. Hop up,” Cicero waved upward with his hand, “Shadowmere won't mind.”

Tressa stood firm. 

“Oh, I know,” she said, “He was more than ready to let me hop up the first day I summoned him, but…I overshot the saddle. Nearly broke my elbow…and hip…And I'm pretty sure he laughed at me in his horse tongue…..”

Cicero rolled his eyes with a shake of his head and made a stance for Tressa to step up on his hands so he could lift her up to the saddle. 

Tressa was, on the other hand, bound to test his patience.

The jester frowned.   
His jolly attitude was well known to flip and flop.

“Get up there before Cicero throws you up there,” he warned. 

Tressa put her hands to her hips.

“Whoa, now. Are you threatening me, Keeper?” she asked in a demanding tone.

Cicero did not back down nor did he move from his stance.

“Yes. It's no idle threat, either” he replied, “It's not against any tenets to simply toss you about like an angry little ragdoll, so stop stalling and get on the damn horse already,…my Listener.” 

Tressa stood firm until the moment Cicero made even the slightest of movement. She flung her arms down in agitation and walked towards him. 

“Sithis. Spare me,” she huffed, “Fine. Okay. Rise me up on the horse then.” 

The jester's smile returned; albeit, he added a bit of a smug flair for his victory of wills. 

He readied his stance again and helped Tressa up to the saddle. 

She adjusted a bit and nervously gripped the reigns of Shadowmere's bridle.   
Her lens looked down at the jester, who was looking at her and the horse with a strange smile. 

It was mischievous, and as if reading his mischievous smile, she shook her head adamantly.

“Don't you dare!” she snapped angrily. 

Cicero tried to look surprised but his grin bled through. 

“What?” he snickered, “Cicero isn't doing any--"

“You were thinking about popping Shadowmere's rump to get him to run, weren't you?!” Tressa accused. 

The jester put his hands behind him innocently. 

“Cicero would never be so cruel!” he replied earnestly, although still smiling, “You'd fall right off!”

“Don't lie!” Tressa spat. 

Cicero waved his hands at that.

“I'm not!” he defended and then shrugged, “…Okay, Cicero was thinking about it in jest, yes, but he wasn't actually going to do it.”

Tressa shook her head in frustration and unintentionally pulled the reigns back when she tried to let out a frustrated sigh at Cicero.  
It turned into a small frightened yelp when the horse began to trot backwards. 

“Cicero, get up here,” Tressa said quickly to which the jester laughed a slight under his breath and grabbed ahold of Shadowmere's bridle to halt him. 

Once the horse stood still, Cicero quite smoothly did a hoisting jump and slid right in behind the saddle and Tressa. 

“Show off,” the girl muttered and Cicero patted her bicep.

“You will too,” he assured and put his arms under hers to correct her hold on the reigns. 

He also knocked her legs a bit with his boots to get her to stop squeezing Shadowmere's sides so tightly.

“Loosen up, Listener,” he said, “Cicero promises he won't let you fall.” 

The Listener whined in more frustration but loosened up; however, she tensed once again when Cicero made his next comment.

“Why, Listener! You're shaking!” he exclaimed in surprise. 

“Shut up!” Tressa ordered, embarrassment evident her voice, “You said no ridicule!” 

“It's not ridicule, my Listener, promise,” Cicero replied, “Merely a comment. Cicero didn't expect you to be this anxious. My apologies.”

The jester noticed Kor weakly holding in a laugh, and the Nord seemed ready to unleash it, so the clown gave him a very strong glare and shake of his head to warn him against it.

Cicero made a promise to not disrespect the Listener with this riding lesson; he'd be damned to let the Nord brat do it. 

“Can we go now?” Tressa asked impatiently but attempted to lighten it up, “….Enough horseplay?”

Cicero's attention snapped back to her and he gave a little laugh at her joke.

“Ha, of course, my Listener,” he said, “We go whenever and wherever you say…...Oh! Wait! But not yet! The bag!”

He spun himself and leapt off the horse. Tressa remained absolutely still as to not accidentally snap the reign while Cicero retrieved their main supply bag and strapped it to Shadowmere. 

Once done, he once again hoisted himself back up with ease and sat again behind Tressa, reaching around her once more and guiding her on where and how to hold the reigns. 

Kor had saddled atop Snowberry while waiting for Cicero to strap down the bag on Shadowmere and the Nord was all set to follow.

“Okay? Now?” Tressa asked, “….Do I…snap the reigns?”

Cicero shook his head, “No. Not unless you want us to head out at full gallop. Do you?” 

“I'd rather not…”

“Then, give Shadowmere a gentle heel kick,” he said. 

Tressa semi-turned her head and replied, “That seems rude….And like a set up…”

Cicero sighed.   
He was trying not to lose his patience with all this hesitation and reluctance, so he simply did it himself and gave Shadowmere a small jab on the side and did a soft click of his tongue. 

The horse stamped and then began to trot forward at a slow pace. 

Tressa noticeably tensed again, but relaxed upon realizing the horse was only trotting. 

Cicero gave him a couple more gentle jabs and louder clicks to bring Shadowmere up to a steadier trot and helped Tressa steer him around the outcrop. 

Kor trotted behind with Snowberry and followed them through the main street of Dawnstar.   
The denizens no longer held, or at least waived, their suspicions of all them after Tressa took care of their nightmare problem. It made shopping and treading through so much easier. 

Once journeyed through and on the main road out, they picked up the pace just a bit, but Cicero kept Shadowmere at a steady canter--and even that the jester could tell was making Tressa uneasy. 

It was so very tempting to break gallop and watch the amusement of Tressa's panic unfold, but Cicero was bound to his promise, and no amount of deafening laughter in his head would drown out his word once given. 

He did, though, see a fork in the road ahead and let go of the reigns to let Tressa move them herself. 

“I'm sure you can handle this,” he commented. 

“Thank you for the confidence,” Tressa remarked, “You ready to bust your shoulder on the fall that’s coming?” 

“Pah, Cicero won't fall. And I won't let you, as promised,” he said, “….But how in all of Nirn did you give chase of me and the mangy Arnbjorn from Falkreath to Dawnstar if you couldn't steer a simple fork in the road?” 

“My limping about that day wasn't from your traps…,” Tressa admitted, “But, however, I was the epitome of ‘get back up on that horse'.”

They had reached the fork at that point and she smoothly turned Shadowmere to the path she wanted. 

“Ah, and see!” Cicero cheered her, “That hard headed determination of yours pays off!”

“..It was just a little fork, Cicero,” Tressa replied, “...Congratulations to me. I have the skill of a colt striding five year old.” 

“And next we will thread ‘round a row of barrels! Six year olds be damned!” Cicero merrily chirped. 

Tressa chuckled with false laughter and they carried on down the path.

About three hours of smooth cantering later, they were passing the Dwemer ruins of Mzinchaleft. 

Cicero, who had at some point put on a dark shawl with a mouth band for warmth, pulled down the mouth piece to vocally point out the ruins.

“Oh, Listener! Remember that place!” he asked with a bit of excitement. 

“Yep. I had a contract there!” Tressa replied,” And of course, we had so much fun getting lost in that incredible, otherworldly place beneath it! That troll brained Dragonborn sure left wide open the way to such a wonder.” 

“We simply must vacation there again,” Cicero insisted, “The eeire, beautiful glow of that underground and all its wonders. Hehe, oh, we gotta see it again.”

Kor could hear them chatting and piped in.

“Wait, you've been in the Blackreach? I thought it was fable!” he said, “I want to see it!”

“After!” Tressa called back, “We were struck with utter fascination for like two weeks down in there. But, yes. Whatever you just called it. It was real and it was amazing.”

They furthered more down the path heading westward, until it came to a T. 

Cicero assumed Tressa was going to turn them left to head towards Morthal, but instead she headed straight through crosspath and off the road. 

“Listener? Did you freeze up?” Cicero asked, “…Forget how to--"

“Nope, I meant to do this,” Tressa answered.

Cicero wasn't sure if she was being sarcastic or not.

“Um…Cicero isn't judging you. He'll help you--"

“Nope. Really, I did. I know where I'm going and it's not Morthal,” she answered. 

“Uh..okay,” the jester replied a bit unsure. 

Tressa looked back around him and noticed Kor had halted at the T in the roads, probably assuming she hadn't meant this off roading bit either. 

“Kor, come on!” she hollered back. 

He began to follow and Tressa was just about to turn her attention back around, not noticing Cicero had stretched up to look over her as something caught his attention.

It was too late when she heard his small gasp and in that instant, Shadowmere suddenly reared up in fury. 

The jolting up of the horse caused Tressa to nearly slide off, but Cicero quickly grabbed and wrapped an arm around her and held Shadowmere's reign with his free hand.

“Easy, Shadowmere!” Cicero called, gently tugging the reign to reel the horse out of his frenzied stamping and rearing.

“Please stop, boy,” Tressa clutched his mane, “I do not want to expel in this mask…”

Shadowmere wound down for a moment as a fox skittered and slinked out of the tree line. 

“Oh,” Cicero panted, “…A fox? Cicero swore he saw something bigg--"

The jester and Tressa both yelped as a large frost troll had somehow managed to sneak its way among the trees and burst out after the fox.

Its three eyes suddenly locking on to them instead and its pounding limbs charging their way.

Shadowmere once again raised up in fury and met the charge causing Cicero to nearly lose his grip on the horse and Tressa, but he managed to keep ahold. 

“A damned troll?!” Tressa fussed, “Oh, I hate them! Shadowmere, you doof, let us handle it!”

She conjured a firebolt and tossed it around Shadowmere's neck, still nailing the troll in the face despite the awkward aim and jolting charge. 

The troll shrieked and wildly flung about before retreating back into the trees.

“Oh, uh uh!” Tressa huffed, “Shadowmere, after him!”

She yanked the reign from Cicero.

“Listener, no, wait!” the jester tried to warn her, but she snapped it and sent them off in chase.

Shadowmere bounded off and around the trees hazardously in pursuit of the troll. 

“Oh, damn!” Tressa realized her error, gripping both Cicero's arm around her and Shadowmere's mane, “Bad idea!”

“Yes, bad idea! VERY BAD!” Cicero barked angrily as he held her as best he could and gripped the mane too as he couldn't feel for the reigns at the moment. 

“Stop him, please!” Tressa yipped, “Shadowmere! Stop!”

“I can't stop him while I'm holding his mane! We'll fall!” Cicero shouted, “Where are the reigns?!”

Tressa picked them up from his neckline and Cicero snatched them in a quick move.

“Halt! Shadowmere! Whoa!” he yanked back. It caused the horse to rear once again, but Cicero worked him down from the sudden halt and simmered the horse from his bucking. 

At this point they realized they had come into an icy, swampish area. It was more open but footing was just as hazardous. 

Tressa and Cicero caught sight of the troll still in retreat and sloshing through the icy waters.

“Go. Kill it,” Cicero forced Tressa to slide down off the horse, “Cicero needs a minute before we have a word about all this. Look! Cicero's hat is gone! BAD. BAD LISTENER!”

Tressa was unbalanced for a moment when she touched ground and whether she wanted to smart back to him or not couldn't be seen on her mask, but she caught her footing and stomped after the troll. 

Cicero gazed around trying to spot his jester's cap, even spinning around backwards on the horse for a full turn view. 

Kor finally emerging carefully with Snowberry caught his eye and the jester gave the Nord an annoyed expression.

“Well, look at you, proving just how useful you are,” he commented snidely. 

Kor gave a guilty look and replied, “I'm sorry, really. All that happened so fast, I….Where's your hat? Unnerving. You look too different without it.” 

“WHAT DO YOU THINK HAPPENED TO IT?!” Cicero snapped, leaping from Shadowmere's rump.

He turned about still scanning the area for his beloved cap. 

Tressa had dispatched the troll at this point and returned to the two men. 

Cicero glared at her and held up a warning finger. 

“Don't step too close,” he said, “Cicero is is still too angry.” 

She held her hands up defensively and clasped them together in a stance of apology, although her tone was not sincere.

“I. Am. Sorry,” she emphasized, “Clearly, I am not ready for the barrel races. I'm sorry…I'm sorry. I am sorry. I'm sorry. How many times are we looking at me saying it before you forgive me?” 

Cicero folded his arms with a hmph. 

“Perhaps Cicero will forgive you when he finds his hat,” he replied. 

Tressa turned her head about and pointed, “There. I see it. Forgive me?” 

Cicero and Kor both looked to where she pointed and saw the jester's cap floating out towards the middle of one of the many icy water holes. 

Cicero frowned and looked back at the Listener.   
“Once I get it, then forgiveness,” he snipped and began walking off to get his hat. 

Kor spoke up.

“Hey, one moment,” he said, sliding down off Snowberry. 

Cicero ignored him and sank his boot into the cold water.

The jester didn't look comfortable at all as he sank his other boot into the water now.

He heard Kor following behind.

“Not now,” he hissed at the Nord, “Cicero would like to get his hat before who-knows-what snatches it in this dreary bog.”

Cicero had just begun to wade further out when Kor suddenly rushed up behind him and lifted the smaller man from the water as if he was merely a child and set him afoot on the ground. 

“Wha-!” Cicero nearly yelped but regained his anger and snapped at Kor, “Don’t ever pick Cicero up like that again!”

Kor stepped back and held a hand up.

“Calm down. I might can lift you like a sack of flour, but I'm certain you can gut me before I could ever do it in a fight,” he assured, “….All I was going to suggest was to let the Nord go into the icy waters. You know…prove my worth?” 

Cicero still seemed quite upset with him, but then nodded. 

“Fine. Fetch my hat, water dog,” he conceded and ordered, “…..Sing an octave higher for us.”

Kor blew a breath from his nose and smirked.

“Nord boys aren't afraid of a little cool weather,” he said with pride. 

He slid his boots off and stepped into the water with no reaction whatsoever, not even when wading up to his middle. 

He didn't look back, but still smiled broadly upon hearing Cicero's grumbling humph. 

Tressa came closer and stood next to Cicero as they watched the Nord near the hat. 

“Forgive me yet?” she jabbed at the jester with her elbow. 

“As soon as I get my hat,” he replied, unbothered by her jabs. 

Kor was close enough to grab it now and began to reach out, only for a claw to reach up from under and snatch it down into the dark beneath. 

Everyone startled at the sudden thievery; Cicero most of all. 

“NO! Get it! GET IT BACK!” he shouted at Kor and then looked to Tressa, “…..Cicero will never forgive you.” 

“I didn't do that!” she barked back.

Kor wasted no time and dove underneath the water, emerging moments later with the large mudcrab that held Cicero's cap in its claw.

The Nord ripped the entire clawed limb from the creature and tossed it to the jester, hat and all.

The relieved merry man caught it, but begrudgingly thanked him as he pried his cap from the clenched pincer. 

The Imperial clown plopped the wet hat atop his head and looked to Tressa. 

“You're forgiven,” he nodded. 

“Finally,” she mumbled and stepped back as Kor tossed the rest of the heavy mudcrab near them. 

It thudded awkwardly on the soggy ground; its weight sinking it just slightly. There was a hole in its underbelly where Kor had punched it through to kill it.

“Hmm,” the Listener nodded to herself, “So you can indeed lift a moderate mudcrab.”

Cicero's glare half returned on her. 

“He lifted me just moments ago,” he said, “What is Cicero then?”

“Laying off the sweet rolls?” she retorted. 

The jester looked as if he wanted to be offended, but he burst into hysterical laughter instead. 

Kor sloshed out of the water. He was sogging wet from head to toe, but he still did not give even a shiver.  
He did; however, make a suggestion.

“Perhaps we can take a short break, Listener?” he asked, “Snack upon this thief? It's probably best I at least change clothes.”

Tressa nodded, “Yes, actually, that's why I wanted to come this way—Horses need a little break. I at least know that from nearly running my sturdy Shadowmere to leg break exhaustion way back when….CICERO.”

Cicero's laughter had subsided and he looked to Tressa with an arched brow. He ignored her vocal jab at him about their past and instead only addressed her desire to come out this way.

“You wanted to come out…here? There's nothing here,” he said, “….Except cap stealing mudcrabs.” 

“Aaaaand,” Tressa pointed, “A cozy little shack.” 

Off in the distance, settled in the fog of icy mist, was indeed a lonely shack. 

“That's where I met Astrid, you know,” the Listener explained, “…well, where she dragged me unconscious to. Initiating me to the Brotherhood. I wonder if all the blood has stained the floors a lovely cherry.…”

“Urgh,…Astrid,” Cicero spoke with disgust, “….But you wanted to dodge Morthal for this?” 

Tressa mimicked his tone for Astrid and applied it to Morthal.

“Urgh…Morthal,” she said, “Yes. After their little angry mob about my magic, remember? I'm about the same on never setting foot there again as I am with Winterhold….Besides. Free cabin. Nobody but mudcrabs to bother our lovely brunch time. Come on. Besides, you need to dry your boots and hat as much as he needs to dry his…entirety, I suppose.” 

“Alright, my Listener,” he responded, “Whatever you wish to do….But be sure the horses have somewhere dry to rest their hooves.” 

“Yes, teacher,” the Listener replied with mocking obedience, “….Let's go set stuff on fire now.”


	7. Getting to Know You....A Little

Chapter 7: Getting to Know You…A Little

They approached the abandoned shack after setting the horses to rest. 

The door to the shack was half open and signs of wildlife having infiltrated it were evident. 

Tressa looked to Kor. 

“Go on,” she said, “Scope it out for us. Pop your head in the door. See if there is anything waiting to bite or chop it off.” 

“Yes, my Listener,” he said obediently.

Tressa tilted her head at his easily compliant tone. 

“Yuck,” she commented, “I know we're aiming for you to learn some respect and be more tractable, but that didn't feel good. I think I like a little of your hawty resistance, at least.”

Kor gave a curious smile. 

“Like it a little naughty, eh?” he asked.

“Okay, ew, that was worse,” Tressa shuttered, “Find some middle ground.” 

“Okay, fine. Whatever, my Listener,” the Nord shrugged and turned towards the shack. 

“Good! That's better!” Tressa congratulated.

Kor carefully approached the door and gave a quick, little peek in before full on kicking the door open to bang loudly upon the wall. 

“Clear,” he said.

“….Was the door kick necessary?” Tressa asked. 

“Absolutely,” Kor turned to her with a smile, “If anyone was behind it, they're lodged not-so-comfortably into the wall now.”

“Hmm. Never thought about people padding as a door stop,” the girl nodded, “…Okay then. Go get us some fire wood.” 

Kor frowned. 

“Opening doors for you. Fetching your firewood,” he said, “What are you making me into exactly? Your sweetheart?...Should I carry your bags too? Oh wait, you got that funny pack mule doing that.”

“Whoooa, whoa!” Tressa clapped, “I said A LITTLE of your resistance.” 

Cicero, who had been standing by and holding the main supply pack, dropped it on the ground and held a hand to his dagger. 

“Would you like me to cut out his sloppy tongue, Listener?” he asked, “Cicero would be delighted to follow your order!” 

“Seriously?” Kor grumbled, “Can I only joke if I wear a silly suit too? Come on…I'm sorry if I over stepped, my most almighty Listener…And her dashing donkey too.” 

Cicero actually began to wrap his fingers about the handle of his dagger when Tressa shot a hand up with a halting “huthut!”.

“Rabid merry man,” she corrected the Nord. 

The jester let go of the hilt and put his arms in a fold. 

“Stop calling me that!” he demanded. 

Kor pointed to the jester while eyeing the Listener. 

“Defiance,” he said.

“It's not!” Cicero barked.

Tressa wildly waved her arms about.

“Alright, alright! Enough now. Enough,” she demanded, “You, sweetheart, firewood….You, donkey, take the pack in.” 

Both the men now looked thoroughly unamused, but went about their tasks. 

Cicero was sure to not-so-accidentally knock Kor with the pack as he passed by.

Kor ignored the bump and treaded away and back across the icy water to obtain sufficient firewood. 

It didn't take Kor too long at all to gather a decent bundle and bring it back to the shack. 

He stepped inside to see Cicero and Tressa both sitting on the floor back-to-back in front of the empty fireplace. 

Cicero was facing out and towards Kor as Tressa was directly behind him, pressed up against his back, and facing the opposite direction. 

The Nord was slightly confused about it until he began to approach with the wood and saw Tressa's mask on the floor beside them. 

Cicero held up a hand to halt him from stepping any closer. 

Kor was about to ask what they were doing exactly, but Tressa suddenly tossed an orange peel over her head and Cicero and at the Nord.

“I'm snacking,” she explained, her voice clear of the mask but still muffled from chewing upon food. 

“Umm…okay,” Kor replied, “…I got the wood—Why are you two sitting like that?” 

“I'm. Snacking. I just said it,” Tressa repeated with emphasis, “Cicero can't see my face this way. We almost always sit like this when I need to take my mask off and we're out and about.” 

“That must be annoying,” Kor commented. 

“Cicero doesn't mind,” the jester shrugged. 

“But to Tressa? All these little extra steps you have to do to keep hiding…even from friends?” the Nord remarked more. 

“I don't mind,” Tressa also said.

“Couldn't Cicero just be an arse and snatch your mask right there?” the Nord pointed out.

“He won't,” the girl said. The jester nodded.

“Cicero has something called respect,” Cicero affirmed, “A rarity, ever dwindling in this world.”

“Okay,” Kor replied, almost as if unconvinced, “…Here's the wood.” 

“Toss it over us,” the Listener said, “Towards the fireplace.” 

“Sure thing,” the Nord responded, “Don't get mad if I conk the both of ya.”

He tossed it over them and landed it right outside the fireplace. 

After the throw, he began to lean as if to try and get a peek around the side of Tressa's hood, but Cicero was watching him and leaned with the Nord to show his threatening glare and shake of his head. 

Kor shook his own head in disappointment and plopped down where he stood. 

Tressa reached for her mask and placed it back on, latching it without ever removing her hood. 

She then sat up on her knees and knocked the wood into the fire place and set it ablaze with a fire spell. 

“Viola!” she cheered, “Nice and warm! Dry your boots and hat, Cicero. I felt you shivering. Don't deny it.” 

Cicero didn't say anything. He simply spun around and scooted closer to the fire, being sure his boots were well within toasty range. He also rigged a few left over sticks to hold his hat near the heat to dry. 

“Pleeeease do not fall into the fire” he pleaded with his cap as he set the sticks to hold. 

Tressa looked to Kor. 

“Oh, right. You need to warm, well, all of you?” she said, “Would you like some priva--"

Kor quickly slung off his soggy shirt with a smirk, stood, and began undoing his pants. 

“Nope. I have NOTHING to hide,” he said proudly as he undid the laces of his britches.

“Hey!” Cicero looked over his shoulder from where he sat, “Do not unsheathed that paring knife in front of our Lady Listener!”

“Paring knife?” Kor paused to address the insult, “Funny man, this here is quite a two hander.”

“Oh, I've cut off quite bigger than that, remember?” the jester retorted, “Do not perverse yourself in front of our Lady.” 

Tressa waved a hand limply towards Cicero.

“Oh, let him,” she said, “He planted the tree. Let's see the trunk.”

Kor looked at her with a flash of bewilderment. 

“Are you trying to call a bluff?” he asked, undoing his pants enough to drop them and leave only his loose undergarments. 

“Go on then,” Tressa motioned for him to continue. 

“Listener!” Cicero reproved her with his tone.

“I’m a grown woman, Cicero,” Tressa responded to him, “I’ve seen the boasts of men before.”

“Well, simply don't subject poor Cicero to it then!” he said, “I wish not to partake in whatever young blooded frenzy is happening here. Besides, he needs merely a candle to roast such small nu--"

“Eh, you got me. It's a bluff,” Kor cut in and made his way to sit by the fire, still garbed in his undergarments.

“Ha, knew it,” Tressa triumphed. 

“Uh huh, yes,” Kor nodded, “….You've seen a giant. I pale in comparison no matter how mighty a Nord I am.” 

The Listener's head gave a subtle tilt.

“Hmm,” Tressa scratched at her hood as if in thought, “I suddenly feel as if that isn't really why you backed down, but…Ah well. Whatever keeps your loincloth in place.” 

“Yes,” Cicero agreed, “Not that the undergarment is doing much to assuage my repugnance, but it's better than turning this cozy fire a little too….romantic.”

“Awhat your rewhat?” Kor questioned Cicero's more refined use of words than the Nord would have used. 

Kor sat down and the jester scooted just a bit away and replied, “Ease my disgust.”

Kor narrowed his eyes at the clown but only gave a small puh and remarked, “Gods, you’re mean. Merryman my eye.”

Tressa sat upon the dusty bed nearby, opening a map she had pulled from a pocket. 

“Cicero?” she called upon his attention.

“Hm? Yes, Listener?” he answered. 

“Do you think we'll reach Dragon Bridge by sun down taking this route through the bog here?” 

“Cutting through and around these waters is going to slow us down, Listener,” he responded, “But, yes, I think we will still get there by nightfall.”

“Do you think I made a bad decision? Avoiding Morthal?” she asked. &nbsp

“Cicero follows whatever decision you make, Listener,” he said.

“…..Don't give me that political answer, Cicero,” Tressa responded, “You know I prefer your honesty….even if it's also patronizing….”

“…..Hasty. Not necessarily bad,” he amended his response, “You have reason to avoid Morthal. Cicero remembers the mob of irate villagers. Perhaps things have settled. Perhaps not. We might've been held up longer dealing with their stupidity to magicka than just crossing an icy bog…..Why is this bothering you?”

“It's not bothering me. I’m just trying to keep myself in check,” the girl replied, “Better myself at making decisions, making calls. Proper judgement. Blah blah. I can't do it right if everyone is always ‘Whatever you say, Listener, you know?” 

Kor suddenly popped his voice in.

“Hey, then why am I here to learn that blind respect for you then?” 

Cicero turned a glare on him.

“I don't think you'll learn any form of it,” he growled and then turned his attention back to Tressa.

“Listener, you know Cicero offers his sincerity when he feels you need it,” he said. 

“Oh, with a pat atop my head too?” Tressa remarked.

“Precisely--DON'T YOU DARE!” the jester had suddenly snapped his attention back to Kor, who was inching a stick in his hand towards the rig Cicero had holding his cap, “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” 

“A lot of things,” Kor smiled and tossed his stick straight to the fire instead, “….But I'm only trying to get a little jesting out of the jester.”

“Oh?” Cicero said plucking the now flaming stick from the fire that the Nord had tossed in. 

He stood and went and found Kor's personal bag by the door. 

Snatching it up he held the flame close underneath.

“Wouldn't it be funny if Cicero burned your belongings, your spare clothes? Leaving you to traverse the rest of this quest bare back?” he said and laughed maliciously. 

Kor did his sly smirk.

Cicero hadn't taken his cap off the rig, leaving Kor to glance at it with unspoken threat. 

The jester stopped laughing. 

The flame on the stick died as well, undoing the stalemate they had for all but a moment. 

Kor’s smirk widen with intent, but he snatched the cap and tossed it to the jester. 

“I think it's dried already,” the Nord said, “That’s otherworldly fast. Must be the spellfire.” 

“It's still sopping wet…,” Cicero replied. 

Tressa loudly flopped back on the bed.

“Will you two just share the fire in peace already, so we can get going?” she suggested strongly, “….Or do I need to set the whole cabin ablaze with us in it? Dry up real fast.” 

“Let Cicero weigh the options,” the jester said. 

“Cicero….,” Tressa sighed. 

“Yes, fine, my Listener,” he responded, “…Kor, let us snuggle by the fire light. Brace yourself for Cicero is an experienced snuggler.” 

“….That sounds as threatening as being burnt alive,” the Nord replied to which Cicero regained his malicious laugh.

Things settled and they sat in the quiet of the crackling fire. Quiet, aside from Cicero’s humming and drumming along side it. 

Tressa could've drifted off to sleep from the soft ambience, despite feeling rather rested.  
She knew Cicero was humming for the opposite effect.   
To keep himself awake, or perhaps drowning out—or venting--noise in his head.

So it was no surprise that he started conversing again. She was quite accustomed now to his need to frequently yakety yak. 

“So you said Astrid initiated you here?” he asked of the Listener.

“Hm? Oh, yes, she did,” Tressa replied, “….How she left me unconscious and dragged me here, I do not know.”

“You are rather light,” Cicero remarked, “Cicero had no issue toting your lifeless body and dodging about and away from the Dwarven Centurion that knocked you to near death. Frightened poor Cicero nearly to death as well, you did.”

“Well, I'm sorry. I didn't expect the thing to spring to life,” Tressa mumbled. 

“Everything in Dwemer ruins is suspect. Things popping out left and right,” Cicero said, “…But that aside, why here? She have you kill a slew of cap-stealing mudcrabs?” 

“No, she had a three person line up,” the Listener explained, “…I stole that kill of Grelod the Kind, remember? I've mentioned that much. So she had me ‘repay' it. Observed to see if I could pick out the hit. A mercenary, a scorned wife and mother of six, and an obvious choice of a thieving, raping pile of wasted flesh.” 

“You picked the waste?” Cicero asked. 

“I picked all three,” Tressa answered.

Cicero laughed.

“Aah, yes, multiple choice leaves multiple answers,” he chuckled. 

“All three? Why?” Kor butted in. 

“Why not?” Tressa stated blandly. 

“You said the obvious choice was the pile of waste,” the Nord replied. 

“Yeah? And?” the girl replied back, “Perhaps he was. Perhaps he wasn't. Perhaps all three were targets all along. Perhaps none of them were and I was tested merely on my ability to kill indiscriminately.”

“But one was just a mother of six little welps,” Kor pointed out. 

“Soft spot for mothers, eh?” Tressa said, “And yet you're having trouble serving our Mother.”

“No..no, that's not it,” Kor insisted, “It's just that I'd expect an orphan, you, to be a little hesitant on creating more. This world is…hard enough to say the least without a parent's hand to guide you…You save some kids from Grelod's hand and then shove six more into that hut of an orphanage?” 

“Hm, this sounds personal,” Tressa sat up fully on the bed now, “…You knew OF Grelod? Or you KNEW Grelod?” 

“….I knew Grelod,” Kor answered, “Yes. I’m an orphaned lad myself. Aphid and I aren't blood brothers. We met in that orphanage. Bonded. And ran away to fend for ourselves when our own attempt at that hag's life failed. I mean, we were only of eight and twelve years old. We thought the witch invincible, but clearly we were only ignorant at the time of where to sink the knife. Her beating the life out of us, too, only made it harder to hit a vital spot accurately. ….Pretty sure that's why Aphid picked up archery as he did. So he'd never miss again…”

“My gods, that sad,” Tressa commented, although it wasn't drenched in sympathy. 

Cicero; however, gave the Nord a saddened look.

“One hug,” the jester said.

“What?” Kor responded in confusion.

“One hug. You may have one hug from caring Cicero, you sad welp,” Cicero made clear. 

“No thank you?” Kor replied with feeble politeness. 

“Oh good, thank you,” Cicero sighed with relief, “Cicero would very much like NOT embracing you.” 

“Ah? Well, now I think I need that hug,” Kor poked. 

“No. Too late. The moment has passed.”

“Please. I'm sad. Very sad,” Kor pouted and mimed tears down his cheeks. 

Cicero turned his nose up with a shake of his head. 

“Nope.”

Tressa spoke up again, interrupting whatever back and forth they were doing. 

“Kor, I'm fairly certain you and Aphid both have created orphans as well,” she said, “After all, we took notice of you two from your slaughter of a mere band of petty thieves. Who is to say they weren't stealing to provide for their hungry offspring?” 

Kor didn't respond. His expression was knowing of his own sins, however. 

“We're all hypocrites,” Tressa shrugged, “The world is just…what it is. The Night Mother is our guiding hand. We’re all sinners, but the sins of the unworthy….well…we know the chant of the sacrament.”

Kor gave a little meh noise.

“Well, understanding morality isn't my strong suit anyway, but thanks for killing Grelod,” the Nord said and put his attention back on Cicero. 

The jester looked at him with narrowed eyes, “Cicero isn't hugging you.”

“No. No. The moment has passed for me too,” he waved, “I was just going to ask how your own initiation went…You joke someone to death?” 

Cicero just stared at him for a silent moment before answering, “I was thrown and pinned up against a wall and had a letter shoved in my face.” 

“What?...” Kor somewhat laughed at the nonsensical response. 

Tressa responded to Kor.

“Don't try to pry,” she said, “All he'll ever say is….Go on, Cicero, tell him your tragedy laden past.”

Cicero's odd stare still lingered, but at the prompt of Tressa he said, “.…I lost a dog.” 

“….That's it?” Kor asked, but even he wasn't ignorant to the deep well of sorrow that flashes over someone's eyes when remembering something they very much would like to forget. 

Tressa spoke up again. 

“If you don't laugh about it, you'll die about it,” she said, “You don't have to be a crazed jester to understand that…but all this weeping woe aside, Cicero, you always mention this dog. I keep thinking you dislike dogs, what with that disdain of Arnbjorn you had.” 

“Hm? Oh, no, Cicero loves dogs! And I did indeed lose my own beloved pup” the jester pepped back up but digust reformed upon his face, “But Arnbjorn was more like Astrid's pile of lap-dog shit. Giving canine and canine likeness every where a bad smell.”

“Sweet Mother,” Tressa laughed, “You really did hate that Arnbjorn, didn't you.”

“Was not fond of him, no,” Cicero spat. 

Kor tilted his head.

“This Arnbjorn was actually a dog?” he asked. 

“A lycanthrope,” Cicero explained but noticed Kor's brow raise in question, “….a werewolf.” 

Kor suddenly looked surprised.

“Wait, so Arnbjorn...a werewolf….Chased you practically across the country?....And you outran him the whole way?”

Cicero shrugged.

“Cicero's quite fast and slinky,” he said, “And good at hiding. Lots of close calls, though, when I needed a rest. It was a very…long…run..…I even snatched a few horses, but he tore the poor things apart every time he caught up. Cicero had to do a lot of sneaking around that mobile pile of dog excrement.”

“Couldn't he smell you with that dog nose, though?” Kor questioned. 

“Cicero was sure to bust that nose when the mutt first gave chase,” the jester said, “Cicero dresses like a fool, but he's no idiot.” 

Kor looked at the Imperial clown with a hint of awe. 

“Ah,” the Nord gave a slight smile, “You're a little whirlwind of danger, aren't ya? I got to admit,… though it's probably not surprising, but when I saw you the first time, I figured maybe the Sanctuary hired outside entertainment for its dank atmosphere.”

Cicero gave an acknowledging shrug, but Kor's next comment riled him up.

“When I learned you held special rank, I thought maybe it's just because you're old.” 

“Cicero is NOT old!” the jester took offense, “Just older than you CHILDREN.” 

“Exactly,” Tressa chortled, “Come on, Cicero, you're at least twice our age. Not that you look old. It just means you could have fathered either of us. Which makes you OLD to us CHILDREN.”

“Hmph,” Cicero humphed and took his hat, plopped it upon his head, and got up to sit on the other side of the shack. 

“If that's the case,” he mumbled but they still could hear him, “Then perhaps Cicero should take you both across his knee.”

Kor cackled, “I'd like to see you tr--"

Tressa waved her hands wildly in his direction.

“Uh uh uh! Wait. Don't be so certain the crazy man wouldn't try,” she halted his benign challenge, “….After all, he did SPANK MY HAND!”

The jester spun heel and groaned in exasperation, “Will you let that go?! PLEASE. Cicero is sorry! Okay? Cicero didn't want to apologize for BEING IN THE RIGHT, you abusive brat, but if it will appease your grudge... I. Am. Sorry. Would you like Cicero to cut off his hand in return? I will. Left or right, Listener? I abide your decision.” 

He had yanked his dagger out and tossed it back and forth between hands, hovering it over a wrist a few times in wait. 

Tressa waved dismissively. 

“Oh calm down, you dramatic clown,” she said, “Is your hat dry?” 

“….Yes,” Cicero replied curtly and sheathed his dagger, “….Boots too.”

“And you, Kor?” Tressa asked, “Everything?” 

“Aside from what is now sweat,” he said. 

“Ew,” Tressa responded. 

Kor stood up and pointed at Tressa. 

“You're definitely no Nord,” he said, “You'd be heat sick by now in that get up.”

“Or perhaps I'm not a furry Khajit?” she said in return.

“I know you're not a Khajit anyway,” Kor pointed out, “No tail. Same reason I won't say Argonian.” 

“Maybe it got cut off,” Tressa suggested. 

“Unless your snout has also been punched back into your skull,” Kor replied, “…I thoroughly have deduced you are neither…Besides, why would you want to pet Tsuni so bad if you have the same Khajit fur?” 

“Her fur is so beautiful and looks so clean and silky,” Tressa answered, “Perhaps I would want to know her beauty regimen?” 

Kor shook his head. 

Tressa gave a back hand dismissal. 

“Okay, fine,” she said, “You’ve successfully bunked out two races. The blatant obviousness must have been SO difficult to see.”

Kor still looked proud as he obtained his bag and fished out a dry set of clothes. 

“I also still stand by that you're not a Nord,” he said as he put on the outfit. 

Tressa hopped up and patted his arm as she passed. 

“Maybe not, but when the day comes and you find that I am,” she said, “You're gonna eat snow until you puke.” 

“I love snow. I'd gladly upchuck it,” he said, “You'd understand that if you were a Nord...”

“I didn't say if was punishment or reward,” Tressa replied, “…Okay, are we ready? We'll ride until it's time for afternoon tea, eh? That should put us between Morthal and Dragon Bridge..…Then Dragon Bridge, of course, won't be too far from that point. I do believe we'll most certainly make good time and by sundown. Cicero having me second guess myself, puh.”

“Huh? What?” Cicero had begun to walk out the shack but turned back around, “….You asked for Cicero's opinion on it and I told you I believed we would.” 

Tressa pushed him out the door. 

“Meh, maybe your old memory is clogged,” she jested and clicked for the horses. 

“Cicero is. Not. old,” he huffed and rolled his eyes, “And, unfortunately, I have a terribly great memory. Even with all the constant noise under this lovely, funny hat.” 

Tressa suddenly patted him atop his head. His subtle movement suggested he had almost swatted the move reflexively, but he didn't and simply gave Tressa a narrowed eyed expression. 

Tressa snickered, “Aaaw, it's okay, grandpa. Your senility is safe with us.”

“….Cicero is going to catapult you onto the horse now, okay, Listener?” he said.

“Don't.”

“Fly like a dragon.”

“No. I will shoot fire.”

“Heat rises, my Listener. Sail on the hot wind.”


	8. A Stray, A Threat, and a Shock Spell....Oh My

Chapter 8: A Stray, A Threat, and Shock Spell. Oh My.

A few hours of travel later and they found themselves in clear weather and no snow.

It was still a bit cold, but above freezing temperature. A good thing, too, as they were trekking the horses up an incline that would have been quite hazardous in ice and snow.

As they reached the top of the steep slope, they saw another little shack awaiting near.   
  
“Think this one's abandoned too?” Tressa asked the jester sat behind her. 

He cleared his throat a bit.

“HELLO, FRIEND OR FRIENDS?” Cicero called loudly and then whispered in between chuckles, “Or…soon to be victims…hehehe.”

Tressa had startled a bit at his shout and her masked face glanced over her shoulder at him, “….Quite sneaky, huh?”

She successfully halted Shadowmere on her own, although he was practically snail pacing anyway from carefully climbing the incline. 

Kor brought Snowberry to a stop beside them and they stared at the shack for a moment, listening for any hint of movement.

It was lifeless. No sign of anyone moving within or around. 

Cicero's sigh broke the listening quiet as he grumbled to himself. 

“Cicero is hungry….,” he said listlessly.

“Why didn't you snack when I did?” Tressa asked.

“Cicero wasn't hungry then,” he said, “We have long departed from breakfast now, though.”

Tressa gave Shadowmere a light kick to move him forward and towards the shack as Kor followed suit with the same.

“Well, I did say we'd stop for afternoon tea,” the girl said, “And look another cozy place to rest our---WHOA. I know that smell.” 

All three of them did a fast inhale and quick exhale with shake of the head. 

The horses, too, noticeably picked up the scent. 

“Awe, someone beat us to it?” Cicero gloomed, “….My dagger is going starve as well, at this rate.” 

They dismounted their horses and the three of them approached the shack at ready. Although they did not look too on alert, as the smell in the air indicated that whatever had transpired, transpired days ago. 

Cicero took lead and peeked in first.

He turned to the others with a smile, sheathed his dagger back in place and began singing in his peppy sing-song tone.

“Dead, dead, deeaad. Deady deady dead,” he sang and then dropped to a monotone, “…He's very dead.”

“Ah. Still hungry?” Tressa asked.

“Very,” Cicero nodded as he patted at his stomach, unbothered by the strong stench of death in the air. 

Tressa gave a light pat to her own stomach and nodded as well. 

“Mm, yeah, I could definitely go for this late lunch,” she said, “We can have our little picnic out here. Or would it be rude to exclude our new friend, wasting away in there?”

Cicero shook his head and replied, “No, it's rude of HIM to come to lunch before taking his obvious need of a bath. I mean, honestly you thoughtless dead body, you could make some people lose their appetite.” 

Kor spoke in.

“Hey, we're the ones trespassing on this stiff's property….Not to mention, if he was alive, you wanted to kill him,” he said. 

Cicero looked at the Nord with a raised brow.

“Cicero thought morality wasn't your strong suit,” he said. 

“Didn't say I had a problem with it,” Kor explained, “Just being contrary.” 

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Cicero hugged the Nord.   
The jester managed to tightly wrap his arms completely around the man, pinning Kor's arms to himself. 

Kor was completely taken off guard, his paling skin showing fear that perhaps the jester had sank his dagger in somewhere, but he quickly realized it was only a clinging embrace.

“W-what are you doing? Let g-go,” Kor fruitlessly tried to step out of the hold but Cicero moved with him.

“Just being contrary,” Cicero said.

Kor regained himself and laughed. 

“Oh, Cicero,” he slyly said, “You ARE an experienced snuggler. Hold me tighter.”

The jester immediately let go and scurried back. 

He looked as if he wanted to berate the Nord but couldn't find the words. Instead, he turned away and went to unhitch the supply pack from Shadowmere. 

“Oh wow,” Tressa observed the reaction, “…Kor, you've done the impossible. He's utterly speechless. No retort? Mocking laugh? Genuine laugh? Not even a terse humph. Rather impressive.”

Kor flexed as if he managed the feat by strength.

“I knew I'd prove myself,” he said, “Have I surpassed initiate n—Can I move that dead man? Or we move elsewhere? My nose is about to rot with him.” 

“Heh,” Cicero finally gave noise, “One step forward, two steps back then?” 

“Huh?” Kor looked to him questioningly. 

“An assassin who can't stomach the smell of death?” the Imperial clown said. 

Kor spat as the smell was setting on him more and more and he replied, “Well, it's not like we're expected to have a fortnight with the kill….right? Nobody's told me otherwise.”

“No,” Cicero responded, “But often the one who calls for the contract asks for a little parting gift. A head. A marriage finger. A patch of inked skin. Lips…Ears… Personables…Honestly, the things Cicero has stuffed in this old satchel, I probably shouldn't put my snacks in it…..But point being, and it's shocking you've not been asked, but sometimes you'll carry a piece of that kill with you. Literally. Not figuratively. Though, Cicero can juggle both hahahaha.”

Kor had a hand over his nose at this point, but had at least listened through what Cicero was saying before heading into the shack, as it seemed neither Tressa or the clown were bothered enough to move out of range of the smell. 

In fact, Cicero happily went about setting the supply pack down and began digging into it to obtain the food wrap. 

Tressa had sat on her knees beside him, waiting for him to dig out the goody bag. 

Something; however, caught her attention among the group of trees just a bit beyond the other side of Cicero.

She startled with a gasp and gripped Cicero's arm. 

In reaction, he extended his arm up in front of her and partially shielded her with his torso, immediately shooting his gaze towards the threat.

The creature cautiously stepped clear of the trees to reveal itself as a scraggly dog. 

“Oh, okay,” Tressa said with a mixture of annoyance and relief, “Not another troll. Just a dog—Hey, Cicero! A dog!...Cicero?”

She noticed he hadn't relaxed yet, so she looked once more at the dog to see if there was a threat she overlooked. 

Just a cautious, curious dog.

She leaned around Cicero and saw an odd expression on his face.  
His arm had slowly began to drop, but his brows furrowed in a strange stare. 

“Cicero? You okay?” Tressa asked, slowly going to poke him. 

“Huh? Oh!” the jester finally snapped to, “Cicero's sorry. He was having a wee bit of… déjà vu…Ah, yes, a dog! Hello-hello, doggy!” 

Kor stepped back out of the shack with a note in hand. 

He looked at the dog, back at the note, and then back at the dog. 

“Meeko?...” the Nord spoke low, reading from the note, and then loudly, “Here, Meeko! Here, boy!” 

The dog stood alert and cocked its head before giving a little whine and trotting towards him. 

“What’s this? You have a dog?” Tressa asked. 

“No,” Kor said and handed her the note, “Dead guy’s dog.”

“Aw, oh no,” Tressa said sadly as she took the note and looked it over. 

Cicero glanced it over in her hand. 

“Deady-dead died of rockjoint, ouch,” the jester commented, having skimmed the note. 

Meeko had come up to Kor by then and was carefully sniffing him over before peeking his head around the Nord's legs and into the shack. The dog backed up and whined pitifully. 

“So, um,” Tressa spoke, “…Do we…put the dog to rest with his master?” 

“Tressa!” Cicero gave her a scolding tone, even emphasizing it with her name.

“What?!” she held her hands up in a questioning pose, “…Really. I’m not trying to be sinister here. What do we do with the poor thing? Not like there's an orphanage for wayward pups.” 

Cicero shook his head and reached over to pet the whimpering dog's back.

“Would you like some elk strap, boy? “ he asked kindly, “You've probably haven't eaten a thing since your master perished.”

“Cicero,” Tressa tugged his sleeve, “Wouldn't that, I don't know, make him OUR dog then? We're on an important quest. Mother wants Sybil. Not a dog.”

“We're just sharing lunch with the poor thing, Listener,” Cicero said, “He's got a bounty of a forest to forage after his grief subsides and towns in either direction to stray to... but have a heart, would you?”

“What?!” the girl snapped, “I have a heart, you Fool of Hearts! But excuse me for never having the joys of a childhood pet. I was the pet, you know!” 

Cicero gave a sigh, switching from petting the dog to patting Tressa atop the head. 

“I'm sorry, Listener,” he said. 

She flung his arm away. 

“Ass,” she huffed and dug into the pack, quickly finding the food wrap and pulling it out. 

She pulled an elk strap from it and held it towards the dog. 

“Here, here. Um..Meeko? It's yummy,” she said. 

The dog still whined, but his nose twitching about gave away his curiosity. 

Cicero gave the dog a pet again. 

“Go on, it's alright,” he said. 

The dog licked the roof of its mouth a couple times, along with a swipe of its tongue around its lips and he inched to the dangling meat in Tressa's hand.

The girl held her hand in place, but the way she leaned back indicated she was slightly apprehensive. 

Meeko took the food from her hand and quickly stepped back to hovel it down. 

Tressa visibly relaxed and reached into the food wrap again. 

“Good, huh?” she said, “Here. There's plenty. This should fill your belly for a while.” 

She offered the dog up a handful and sat it in front of him to eat at his leisure. 

Meeko gave a small wag of his tail as he looked at her. 

“Well, go on, eat,” Tressa said.   
The dog swung his tail graciously now and set about eating the bounty.

Cicero nudged Tressa with his elbow and gave a proud-of-you sort of smile. 

“Huh,” Kor gave an intrigued nod, “So…you two aren't just stone cold murderers.” 

Cicero held up a finger. 

“We are ALSO stone cold murderers,” he corrected. 

“Of course, of course,” Kor said, “But, you!”

He pointed firmly at Tressa.

“You're definitely no Wood Elf, either,” he said, “…Trouble with horses. Scared of dogs.”

“I'm not scared of dogs,” Tressa corrected.

“Leary,” Kor amended, “I saw you nervous he was going to bite you instead of the food.” 

“Uh, yeah. A scraggly, hungry stray animal that was just as apprehensive of me,” Tressa replied, “You gonna comment on my lack of petting a troll behind the ears? Slaying wolves? Stomping skeever skulls? I'd just rather not get rabies…. or rockjoint.”

“You’re perfectly comfortable with the rabid merry man,” the Nord remarked.   
Cicero's face scrunched &nbspin contempt and he threateningly pointed to the both of them.   
“If either one of you calls Cicero rabid one more time,” he warned and chomped his teeth together, “..I will BITE.”

The Listener nudged him with her elbow.

“That means we’ll have to put you down, old boy,” she retorted to the jester. 

Kor simply continued on the point he was making. 

“All I'm saying is…You don't have a knack with animal companions,” he said, “And don't give me the whole grew-up-out-of-your-culture bit. Just as with Nords and cold, these things are in the blood.” 

Cicero snickered.

“A Nord that's culturally versed? Racially educated?” he said, “Now that's out of your bloodline!” 

“A condescending Imperial?” Kor retaliated, “Now that's typical.” 

Cicero appeared to begin a retort, but then shrugged and nodded, “Eh, Cicero frolicked right into that one.”

Tressa's masked face stayed locked onto Kor for a moment before saying, “Okay. Okay, Kor, I'll tell you exactly what I am….”

“R-really?” The Nord said, looking surprised at her sudden surrender. 

“Yes, I'm tired of this nonsense” the girl nodded and raised up on her knees, “Bend down. Closer. Here comes the reveal. I'm….”

Her hand came up to her mask, but after feigning a grab at the chin, she instead tapped her mouthpiece. 

“Hungry…,” she answered. 

Kor slung his head down in defeat. 

“Of course, I should have seen that coming. How did I not?” he sighed. 

Tressa made a shooing motion at him.

“Move elsewhere,” she said, “Unless you are still relocating the dead guy.” 

Kor shook his head. 

“No, I think stepping in there with him completely finished off the destruction of my nose,” he said and moved from the shack, “…I don't think I'll ever smell anything again.”

Several minutes later, they were sat on the ground outside the shack, eating upon the left over elk strap.

Cicero and Tressa were back to back again, as she ate her food facing the shack. 

Kor was sitting not too far across from Cicero. The two were eating lunch as well but also playing against each other in a game of Fidchell. It had been drawn in the dirt and littered with small rocks.   
Kor couldn't seem to figure out the tactic, but he was playing along regardless. 

Meeko was sitting comfortably by Tressa's side, as she'd occasionally reach over and pet him or offer him a bite of her food.

She was still cautious of him enough to keep her mask in her lap, but only should he mistake it for a chew toy. 

Tressa finished her small meal, placed her mask back on, and leaned further back to rest her head on Cicero. His humming and whispering chirps, like always, had made her feel a bit sleepy.

He paused, though, to address her. 

“You alright, Listener?” he asked. 

“Uh huh,” she said, “….Just enjoying the atmosphere. The clear weather, cool—not freezing- air, the mellow birds, your sleepy tune, dead guy rotting feet away….It's nice….Although, one of those things is certainly not like the other.”

“Oh, Cicero's sorry, should he try to hush?” the jester asked as if his melody was the disturbing part. 

“No, no,” Tressa stretched and yawned, “I like your little hums and murmurs, honest.” 

She stood up and stretched again. 

“I swear it's a sleep spell, though,” she commented and paced around a bit to wake herself up.

Meeko had gotten up to follow, giving a little stretch himself, but after realizing she was only pacing about, he turned and laid up against the side of Cicero's leg. 

The jester patted him, and fed him the last bite of food he had, while he waited for Kor to attempt a move in their game. 

Tressa had no idea how Kor was fairing, as she had no inkling herself on how to play the game, but the Nord looked seriously in thought so she assumed he must have had some sort of knowledge on it.

She turned her focus elsewhere, to the main road that was not too far out ahead, and that's when she saw a figure appearing in the distance. 

The figure focused a little more and she could see it was a single person boring a large backpack and leading a yak donned in more travel bags. What she liked to call a Pak-yak. It was obviously a travel merchant. 

“Guys, a merchant,” she said. 

The men spun their focus to it as well. Cicero fully stood and looked harder as if to make sure it was indeed just a merchant. 

“Aaah, he's got a Pak-yak, Listener,” he giggled.

Tressa nodded and spoke again.

“Think he'll trade something for a dog?” she asked as she pointed to Meeko. 

“Oh!” Cicero gave a like-minded look and pointed at her, “Good idea! Meeko puppy, you want to travel the lands with a new friend? Huh, boy?” 

The travel merchant was nearing the road ahead of them, not taking notice of them yet, as the cabin was set a bit off road and amongst the trees. 

Tressa decided to catch his attention with a vocal greeting. 

“Hello!” she called loudly. 

The merchant man abruptly stopped and looked about, his hand hovering over a dagger on his belt. 

Tressa called out again, “No harm! Hi, hello!” 

He finally saw them as she walked out a bit more towards him, the others following behind. Meeko in tow. 

“Hello, fellow travelers!” he greeted warmly, though his hand stayed near his dagger just in case, “Interested in some bargains?” 

Tressa pointed towards Meeko. 

“You interested in a dog?” she asked, “…Unfortunately his master lays dead back there in that shack.”

“Oh? Oh no, poor thing,” the merchant said and then looked the odd trio over, “….You three didn't lay him dead, did you?” 

Cicero sighed, “Stupid rockjoint beat us to it.”

Figuring the jester to be merely jesting, the merchant gave a small laugh and looked at Meeko. 

“Well…..,” he said, “Hmm. I do miss having a faithful companion. Wives are no good for that….I'll tell you what. I'll take the poor fella if you buy even just one thing from me. How's that?” 

Tressa gave a shrug and a nod and ask, “You got any Travel Scrolls?” 

“Travel Scrolls? Oh. No, sorry. If I did, I'd just be blippin' town to town instead of all this blasted walking about.” 

“Oranges?” 

“….I have cheese wedges and roasted goat legs.”

Cicero popped to attention.

“Oh! Cheese! Deal!” he clapped. 

The jester made the purchase and happily tucked the cheese into his satchel. 

He turned to Meeko and ruffled the fur on top his head. 

“Enjoy your new life on the road, boy,” he said, “Lots of wonders to see….and pee on hehehahaha.” 

The merchant broke out a piece of goat leg to coax Meeko to him. The dog gladly took it, becoming increasingly happy with all the treats of the day. 

But as if sensing the intention of all this, he looked back towards the shack with longing and gave a little whine. 

The merchant patted his head.

“I’m sorry, pup. I know I won't replace your master, rest his soul, but I'm sure we'll become the best of friends,” he said, “Besides, I bet there's a lot of pretty lady dogs out there waiting for you on this dashing life of travel.” 

Meeko stared a moment longer at the shack before giving a little tail wag and circling around the merchant happily. 

“Good boy,” the merchant tossed him another piece of meat. 

Kor held a hand up to grab the merchant's attention. 

“His name's Meeko,” he said, “At least according to the note we found.”

“Meeko,” the merchant repeated, “A fine name….. Anything else I can do for ya lot?” 

They concluded their business with the man before bidding him and Meeko farewell and watching the pair begin their new companionship down the road. 

Meeko only glanced back a couple times before wagging his tail and happily bouncing about the merchant as they continued on to his new life. 

Tressa held her hands to her hips, but her pose was relaxed. 

“Tossed from one master to another,” she said, “But so happy about it….Eh, well, he does get treats and not beat. Hopefully not beat. Merchant seemed nice.” 

Cicero put a hand on her shoulder. 

“Don't start second guessing yourself, Listener,” he said, “Mother wants Sybil, not a dog, remember?” 

“Yeah,” Tressa replied, “But now I kinda want a dog.” 

Cicero gave her shoulder a pat and shrugged. 

“You should probably start with a mudcrab…or a low maintenance succulent….or a rock.” 

“Oh, haha,” Tressa mockingly laughed and dipped her shoulder out from under his hand, “Are you two ready to get on the road?...We're making good time to Dragon Bridge. Care to stretch our legs a bit on our own two feet?” 

“Cicero doesn't mind,” the jester replied, “Need a little skip, skip, skip today! Haha.”

He then went about doing a bit of a light foot shuffle before heading towards their bags with a merry skip-hop of a walk. 

Kor shook his own legs out one at a time before agreeing, “Yeah, my legs could use some more movement today.”

They hitched their bags back to their horses and began strolling the main road with Shadowmere and Snowberry clopping lazily behind them. 

Tressa was enjoying their walk, taking in the crisp air that filter through her mask and enjoying the afternoon sunlight.

The mask's dark lens always made the snow cloud and the Sanctuary seem even darker than it actually was, but it was only her own fault. The girl was sticking to being stubborn about how long she could keep the shroud up. 

They walked for a couple hours, making idle chatter, listening to Cicero’s jokes and songs, laying dead a group of ignorant bandits, and making more chatter. 

Tressa was in the midst of a story about a contract she had brought Cicero along for and how he nearly got them swarmed by a fleet of guardsmen. 

“I didn't mess that up. You did,” she was saying to Cicero. 

“It wouldn't have happened if you didn't trip up,” he defended himself. 

“First off, you're the one who decided to distract the market with your entertaining jester self….which was clever, I admit...but you didn't have to linger to soothe the kid….”

“You hit the little girl on the head with that street post you knocked over…Cicero was surprised she was even conscious to cry…Why were you overly sneakily-sneaking about anyway? You could have been casual coming out the alley...”

“You could have just let the kid be. She was obviously alive. I said my sorries and I DID feel bad about it, truly, but we could have been in the clear by the time her parents and those guards appeared. Of course those guards were going scan the area when seeing a strange merry man and a suspiciously covered person trying to calm a child that THEY injured.”

“You injured,” Cicero corrected, “And you didn't have to act guilty when they saw the slaughtered man. There was no way to know it was you.”

“Yes, but I am clearly an unstoppable, irredeemable monster,” Tressa sighed, “….I had his blood on my hands, Cicero. Literally. There was no way I wasn't guil--"

She was suddenly startled greatly at the loud eruption of noise in the short distance behind them. 

The other two gave a slight jump too as they all spun around and saw the great danger sailing in the air towards their direction. 

“Dragon!” Cicero yipped and ran to the horses, taking from Shadowmere a bow and quiver of arrows that were hitched near the bags. He then gave both the horses a slap on the rump to send them running to cover. 

The jester then ran to and pushed Tressa, who was looking about for decent cover, towards a cluster of large rocks off the side of the road. 

“Listener, go, behind the rocks!” he said.

“I'm going! I'm going!” she said as her companion had moved from pushing her to pulling her with him behind the cover of the boulders. 

“Kor!” both of them called to the Nord who was back peddling their direction, but not seeming to want to take his eyes off the dragon. 

Cicero called to him again. 

“Get back here or find another cover!” he yelled.

Tressa added in, “We're aiming to not be seen, but if he does see you, then you best hope you have fire resistance on that outfit!” 

It was too late, as the dragon was upon them now.

Its attention clearly caught sight of Kor as it sailed over and did a quick gliding turn about back towards him. 

“Damn it!” Cicero growled and bolted out towards the Nord, “Come here!” 

Right as he was yanking and pushing Kor in the direction of the rocks, the dragon let loose an explosive stream of fire.  
It was quite literally hot on their heels as the two narrowly got behind the cover in time. 

The searing flames nearly engulfed the entirety of rocks itself, but they huddled into the small break it provided. 

The dragon’s fire breath ceased and it began to flap around to the their side of the rocks.

They took the opportunity to run to the assaulted side, Tressa cooling the ground and rock with a blast of an ice spell and Cicero letting loose as many arrows as he could in quick session at the dragon. 

He was aiming for the leathery membranes making up its wings, trying to ground the beast quickly, and by sheer luck he also managed to hit it dead on in an eye. 

The dragon shrieked and tossed its head about in excruciating pain.

Tressa began hurling ice spikes towards its wings now along side Cicero’s arrows, tearing the membrane wildly open on one.

The dragon thudded to the ground and frantically searched for its targets with the remaining eye, but Kor had ran upon it now unsheathing the short swords hilted to his sides. 

The Nord dodged the snapping jaw and went underneath the dragon, stabbing and slicing wildly on its underbelly. 

The dragon shrieked again and shuffled around, trying to stomp and kick and wing slap at the Nord continuously running and stabbing beneath it. 

As it snaked its head down to locate Kor, it was then boarded on its neck by the jester.

Upon pulling its head up to try and throw the fool, Cicero scurried himself to plunge his dagger into its remaining eye.

It was now completely blind and began to fling its head in panic.

Cicero had to cling tightly on to its neck as not to be thrown.

It was spitting short bursts of fire in wild directions and plopping and stomping in desperate panic to rid the Nord beneath it. 

Kor had almost gotten crushed when he barely dodged one of the body slams, but he was still going to plunge his swords in it once more when Tressa shouted to them. 

“Kor! Move away!” she ordered, “Cicero jump and run the next chance you get!” 

The men looked her way to see her charging a powerful shock spell. 

Kor backpedaled a considerable distance as Cicero recognized this spell and shouted back, “WAIT! NO WAIT! YOU BETTER WAIT!”

The dragon plopped again, giving Cicero the opportunity he needed to dismount. 

“Run, go!” Tressa hollered as the jester jumped off and quickly made away from the dragon. 

The girl thought him far enough away from it and let loose the destructive spell.

It ravaged the dragon with the fury of a thousand lightning storms, and although it collapsed the dragon dead, stray bolts and balls of lightning bounced in all directions around. 

The destructive power seemed to dissipate quickly with distance, but a stray ball brought Cicero to the ground in terrible pain as he hadn't gotten far enough away nor managed to evade it in time.

Kor had backed far but was still zapped with a stray bolt. His damage at that distance was minimal. He merely jumped and shook it off like a hard pinch.

Tressa gasped.

“Oh! Oh no, oh no, oh no!” she noticed her fallen comrade and rushed to him, “Cicero! Don't be dead! I'm sorry!” 

He flipped to his back and clutched his gut and sides, groaning in pain. 

Tressa reached him, as did Kor, and the girl dropped to the ground next to the jester. 

“I-I can try, um, restoration…,” she said, shakenly looking at his fallen state.

Cicero began to breathe deeper and spoke through the pain, “Y-your healing i-is terrible. You've not practiced. And y-you're not p-practicing on Cicero…”

Tressa fiddled with her fingers.

“Ha. My magicka is caput now anyway,” she said.

Cicero took another breath and pushed up to a sitting position. The pain was dissipating it appeared, but he still winced and clutched at his gut. 

His glare steered and seared into Tressa now who quickly stood and scrambled partially behind Kor. 

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” she said with nervous sincerity, “I'm really sorry. I am SO REALLY sorry. I thought I had it this time.” 

Cicero just glared for a moment longer and then shuddered and seemed to relax. 

“Save the spell for when it's absolutely necessary next time, will you?” he said. 

Tressa unhid herself from behind Kor. 

“I thought it was,” she stated, but Cicero gave her a look that said he knew she knew otherwise. 

“Okay, fine,” she said, “I used it because it makes me feel powerful.”

“Listener, Cicero has to be honest here,” Cicero said, “It's too powerful for you. At least for now. Your talent is promising, but you need practice. And besides, that dragon was ready to fall. Kor had it with a few more shreds to its innards….”

Tressa huffed. 

“How am I suppose to practice without practicing then, huh? What do you think that was?” 

Cicero gave her a nod. 

“Fair enough,” he said, “….Use Kor next time.” 

“Please don't,” Kor looked to Tressa. 

“No promises,” she said, “Poor Cicero has suffered enough.”

The jester nodded greatly. 

“Indeed, indeed,” he agreed, “Poor Cicero most certainly has.”

Kor extended a hand to help the man to his feet. 

Cicero accepted his help, but a pained grunt escaped him as he stood. 

Tressa cautiously put a hand on him.

“Are you really okay?” she asked, “I am sorry.”

Cicero nodded.

“Cicero will be fine,” he said, “Just some spasms.” 

Kor laughed a little.

“That any different than normal, you spastic man?” he asked. 

Cicero willfully cracked a smile at his comment.

“Probably not, heh,” he replied, “…Ah! The -ow- ..horses!”

“Oh!” Tressa scanned about and Kor whistled for them.

The two mounts came trotting out from the woods, thankfully unharmed. 

Shadowmere snorted in what seemed like annoyance when he approached.

Cicero patted him on the snout.

“We know, boy,” he said, “You could've clogged that dragon to death.”

“Oh, hey!” Tressa snapped to and began digging in the supply pack on Shadowmere, “….I do have this potion Babette made.”

“Why is it in that bag?” Cicero asked, “You should keep things like that on you.”

“Well I'm sorry for that shortcoming too, teacher,” she said, “Here….I don't know how powerful it is, but it should help a little.”

“Cicero will be fine, Listen--"  
“Drink it. I don't want to feel so guilty any longer.” 

Cicero smirked a bit and nodded. 

“Okay, Listener,” he said and accepted the potion, “….it is for health, right?”

“It's red,” Tressa replied, “So I assume so…unless Babette thinks we share the same vampiric tastes.”

“It doesn't smell like blood,” the jester remarked upon opening the vial, “….just doesn't smell like a sweet roll, either….Ah, well.”

He shot it down quickly and handed the empty vial back to Tressa while he stuck his tongue out in disgust.

His voice was slightly hoarse as he said, “You were just trying to finish me off, weren't you. Ick.” 

“It wasn't for health?” Tressa asked in disappointment.

“Oh, no, it was,” the jester replied, his voice cleared up, “Cicero feels wonderful now….but that potion can't be healthy for the taste buds. Bleh. Really.”

Tressa put the vial back in the bag and sighed in relief. 

“Well I'm glad you're okay. I think we should probably mount up the rest of the way to Dragon Bridge now,” she said. 

Cicero and Kor both nodded in agreement and the jester took a stance to help Tressa up on the horse. 

“How do you jump up there?” she asked instead, having him show her exactly what he does to hoist himself up. He sat atop the horse behind the saddle and offered a hand to help her up.

She instead decided to practice the hoist up herself.   
He caught her, as she of course overshot and nearly went to the ground on the other side. 

She slid out of Cicero's grip and back down to go about trying again.   
Kor saddled atop Snowberry and sat back on the horse as if he knew this was going to take a while. 

Cicero just looked at ready to catch her again.  
Which he did, because even though she almost had it, she overshot enough to slip the saddle a bit.

When she slid down to try yet again, the jester put his arms behind his back to show he wasn't going to help her this time. 

He’d still catch her, given his arms slightly coming back around when she leapt, but he figured she'd be more determined in herself if she thought he wasn't going to.

But she got it right on this third try.

“Did I?…I did it!” she cheered, “Yes! I graduated, teacher! Look at that!”

Her cheer quickly turned into a grumble when the jester pat her head. 

“Yes, good job,” he said, “Cicero is very proud.”

“..Should of known you'd do that,” she grumbled, “…Let's go. To Dragon Bridge! Where hopefully there are no dragons!”

She gave Shadowmere a heel kick and they were on their way again.


	9. No Room For Rent

Chapter 9: No Room For Rent

It was about an hour before sundown when they reached Dragon Bridge. 

They trotted in on their horses across the large stone bridge, the namesake of the place, and into the village they went. They took notice of the guards on watch taking notice of them.

Very much taking notice of them. 

Suspiciously taking notice of them. 

“Uh oh,” Tressa mumbled. 

“Listener?” Cicero whispered, “…Why ‘uh oh'?” 

A guard began approaching them.

“Listener?” Cicero prodded more, “Why ‘uh oh'? What did you do? Should we be ready? Listen--"

The guard had reached them at this point and Tressa halted Shadowmere to address the approach.   
Kor stopped just behind them. 

“I know you,” the guard said, “….Recognize that get up. You've been here before.”

“Three times, in fact. This is my fourth,” Tressa responded. She sounded mostly casual, but there was a slight hint of worry in her voice. 

“And so has he,” the guard looked to Cicero.

Tressa nodded.

“He was with me the second time I was here, yes,” Tressa replied.

“He wasn't with you last time. Nor was the Nord there.”

Tressa tilted her head. 

“Is…there a point here?” she finally asked. 

“I don't know about these two,” the guard said motioning vaguely to Cicero and Kor, “but everytime YOU'RE here, an incident occurs..”

Tressa quickly looked about and tilted her head the other way.

“What'd'ya mean?” the girl chuckled.

“Hragar!” another guard called out, “Stop accosting the travelers!”

“They're suspicious!” this Hragar shouted back, “Especially this one! I mean, look at her. And maybe this merry man, too! A jester in Skyrim? And this horse! His eyes are GLOWING. RED. Do you not see this, Thork? Did nobody see this?” 

The other guard, Thork, stepped closer and looked them over and shrugged. 

“They all do look a little funny. Especially that hardy young Nord right there with the pretty mare,” he said.

Tressa felt Cicero thump her on the back, probably trying to get her to give the order to attack or flee. 

Thork gave another shrug and said, “Eh, Hragar, there probably just traveling entertainment.” 

“Ha! My eye! Do us a trick then,” Hragar ordered. 

“Uh, um,” Tressa muttered, “W-we're not that good being put on the spot…”

Cicero spoke up now.

“Oh-oh! But Cicero is!” he said as if eager, but there was agitation on his tongue, “Cicero knows a wonderful trick! A wonderfully, funny trick! Cicero will show you! The both of you! Your sides will be in stitches, I assure you!”

“Cicero, no no,” Tressa knocked him with her elbow before he could slide off the horse, “We're not FREE entertainment. What. You two think you're sly? Trying to shake a free show out of us?”

“What?” Hragar tilted his head.

Tressa angrily lit into him more.

“Trying to intimidate a few weary travelers to dance for you, because what? You're bored? You gonna pay for a juggling act then shake us down for the gold back? Huh? Where's your superior? I quite remember you now, too! Accusing me of burning down that Penitus Oculatus outpost the last I was here.”

She felt Cicero thump her again. She figured this time was because he was letting her know that he knew it was her, after the whole sawmill incident he was present for.

Thork looked at Hragar with a you’re-in-for-it eye and commented, “You're already on your last leg with the captain. Always scaring off every potential room renter for this town, what with your paranoid nonsense.” 

“Nonsense!? Look at them! And something does happen everytime she--"

“Hragar! Stand down!” a larger, much more practiced guard shouted firmly. He was obviously the captain here.

On his approach, it was noticeable that he also bore a familial resemblance to Hragar. 

Hragar and Thork both stood at attention, but Hragar failed to look the superior in the eye. 

The captain stood nearly nose to nose with him and spoke with threat, “Get out of my sight. Now.”

Hragar gave a salute and stomped away. The captain simply glared at Thork until he got the idea to away himself too. 

Once both of them were gone, the captain addressed the trio. 

“I apologize, travelers,” he said, “Hragar obviously missed his chance to be recruited as an Inspector for the Penitus Oculatus, and out from under his father's command… Not that they'd ever take a Nord, anyway.…Ahem. I do recall seeing you around here before, but have no worries, I hold no suspicions against you.”

“Yes you do,” Tressa spat out. Cicero practically backhanded her on the back. The irony of him to try and shush someone else. The hypocrisy as well, considering he had been at ready to cause a scene moments ago.

The captain smirked with a quick blow of his nose in humor. 

“Alright, so I do,” he agreed, “….But I promised that Faida I'd put a stop to Hragar ruining her business. Inn needs patrons. I assure her them and she is grateful….Quite grateful.” 

“So transparent…,” Cicero commented. The captain looked to him with that knowing smirk. 

“As are you three,” he remarked but then looked to Kor, “…Well, he looks standard, but atop that pretty thing? What is he, your decoy?” 

Tressa gripped the reigns of Shadowmere tighter, readying to fight or flee, but the captain relaxed a casual stance.

“It's alright, like I said,” he assured, “Unless you are here to burn down the rest of the village.”

“We were trying to just bunk a night,” Tressa replied, “….but with such cold greetings, I can warm everyone's bones.”

The captain gave another amused blow of his nose. 

“You'll find I don't burn easily,” he replied, “Nor does the Dragonborn.”

Tressa cocked her head and then scanned about, “What? Where? Here?” 

“At the inn,” the captain said, “Staying a night as well.”

Tressa blew a raspberry under her mask.

“We're not staying,” she said, “But I'll see what other goods the inn has. I got something to say to that Dragonborn. And YOU, too…You are exactly what's wrong with the system supposedly in place to protect us. Law and order, huh. Gonna let us suspicious, probably murderous,--" 

Cicero cleared his throat in an obvious attempt to silence her. Tressa ignored him and continued her rant. 

“Probably arsonists--"

The jester began thumping her repeatedly. “Let it go,” He gritted quietly to her.   
He was still ignored.

“Or perhaps just let some petty thieves slip under your nose because you're more worried about having a lay with the innkeeper, aren't you? Going to let innocent folk suffer for your throbbing--"

Cicero clamped his hands over her mouthpiece now and said, “The nice man here is trying to give us innocent folk a pass, you snippy imp. Will you hush and take it, please?” 

Tressa yanked his hands away. 

“Oh, yes. Shut up and deal with it. My whole life,” she snapped.

Cicero dropped his arms but then put a hand to her back. 

“Cicero's sorry,” he said, “He simply doesn't want you, or us, shredded apart by that blasted shouting of the Dragonborn in there….Should he decide to put a stop to all this commotion out here.” 

Tressa turned a bit to him.

“I am not afraid of him,” she said, “I've got some words to THROW AT HIM!”

She slid off Shadowmere and pointed at the captain. 

“No worries. No fires… and I'll buy something from your tart,” she said and began stomping towards the Four Shields Inn. 

Cicero and Kor dismounted as well, but Cicero quickly pulled from his satchel a piece of paper and a charcoal stick.

“What are you doing?” Kor asked as the jester flattened the paper on Shadowmere’s rump.

“Ha, we're probably about to die,” Cicero casually replied with a laugh, “Just writing a quick letter for Nazir to let him know as soon as possible and to bid farewell.”

The jester then looked over his shoulder at the captain still prying right by. 

“Do you mind?” Cicero asked impatiently, “….it's going to get intimate.”

The captain held his hands up and stepped away, heading in the direction Hragar had retreated to earlier. 

Kor idly scratched the back of his neck, seeming a little nervous. 

“Are…you joking about dying?” he asked, “Because, if not, I should probably write Aphid…”

Cicero huffed in a bit of agitation and stuffed the paper and charcoal back away. 

“Come on,” he said motioning Kor to follow him to the inn.

They approached the inn and saw Tressa was actually waiting on them by the door. She hadn't entered yet. 

“Not afraid of him, eh?” Cicero snickered. 

She huffed and didn't bother responding to his remark. Instead, she flung the door open and stepped inside the tavern. 

The other two followed her in as she looked about, ignoring the greeting of the innkeeper. 

Tressa froze. 

She spotted him.

The Dragonborn. 

She had seen him in passing a chance few times before and recognized his hulky frame and armor of dragon bone, not to mention the eerie weapon upon his back, no doubt enchanted with something that could reek just as much havoc as his shouting tongue.

In raw honesty, his appearance alone intimidated her, but she was in a moment of letting off steam. 

Her lens stayed locked onto him. He was sat with his back turned towards them at the bar where the innkeeper poured drinks.

“Hey, you! Dragonboy!” Tressa finally barked.   
Her companions were looking slightly concerned at her aggressive tone. Probably hoping it didn't immediately incite the Dovahkiin to violence.

The Dragonborn’s posture straightened a tad and he sat the tankard he had in his hand down. 

He responded without even turning around to face her. His deep voice echoing the disinterest. 

“Uh huh?”

His indifferent manner only irritated Tressa further. 

“Why don't you get off your ass and do your job?” she snapped, both Cicero and Kor reacting by immediately pulling her behind them. 

The Dragonborn turned his attention their way now.  
It was hard to see his expression under the helm he wore, but what was visible didn't look very amused.

Cicero gave him a wide smile as Kor pantomimed that the girl had drank too much, but Tressa pushed them aside and addressed the Dovahkiin once more. 

“You bored with the dragons now, huh?” she said. 

The Dragonborn held his gaze on her as she continued her spat. 

“You missed one just a bit out east,” she snipped, “It probably killed my almost dog and his nice new friend, too! I pray otherwise! I really liked them.” 

The Dragonborn adjusted a little, looking as if he was about to stand. Tressa was too riled to worry now and spewed more of her tangent.

“Oh, don't get off your ass now. We took care of it for you. Looks like you're not that special, after all.”

Cicero and Kor pulled her back again with Cicero quietly scolding her, “What is this?! Are you looking to practice your magicka upon him? Cicero doesn't think him a wise target, Listener. Stay alive for Mother. And to pet Tsuni's fur. Please.”

Tressa again pushed them aside.

The Dragonborn had half risen, holding his stare on them, but then he simply sat back down and adjusted his seat.   
He lazily plopped his elbow to the countertop, placing his chin in hand. 

His gaze and demeanor relaxed.

“My apologies,” he said, “Perhaps it was following me. Thank you for picking up my slack.”

Tressa stood quiet for the moment. Her fists were clenched, indicating her tension, but her silence indicated her lack of retort. 

After a heavy moment, she unclenched her fists and finally responded tersely, “You're welcome.”

The Dovahkiin turned himself back around to his tankard and downed its contents in a quick swig.

He cleared his throat and spoke to them again. 

“I can pay for your stay here,” he said, “As an extension of my apology.”

“We're not staying,” Tressa replied, “I don't fancy the ambience around here. But you can buy whatever I fancy from the innkeeper.”

“Fine by me,” he said and extended his tankard to that innkeeper for a refill, “You like mead? I'll buy a round for you and your friends.” 

“No, thank you,” Tressa replied as did Cicero.

Kor; however, spoke differently. 

“Hey, hey. Hold up, yes, thank you,” he chimed in, “I'll take the round.”

The Dovahkiin gave a simmered laugh. 

“But a glass to you, eh, fellow Nord?” he said and held up his refilled tankard, “Come then. Share a glass or two with me while your friend browses about.”

Kor gave a bit of an excited smile and looked to Tressa for the okay. 

It was taking her a moment to realize he was awaiting her permission.

Kor raised his brows and made a roll of his hand in wait.

“Well, can I?” he asked, “Can I have a drink with the Dragonborn?.. The. Dragon. Born.”

“Oh!” Tressa realized, “Uh,..yeah. Go on… Star struck much?”

Kor nodded with excitement. 

“Uh, yeah,” he said and added in with whisper, “I’m mead's biggest fan.”

He quickly stepped away and took a seat beside the Dragonborn, gladly accepting the cluster of tankards pushed his way.

Tressa approached the counter as well, but looked to the innkeeper.

The innkeeper smiled and greeted again, despite being ignored on their entry. 

“Welcome to the Four Shields. Name's Faida. So what can I do for ya?” Faida asked with a chipper tone, “I have things for supper, mostly. A few trinkets.”

“Travel scrolls?” Tressa requested. 

“I don't believe I've heard of that,” Faida responded, “That a mage thing?” 

“I know those,” the Dragonborn commented. 

Tressa turned her head to him. 

“You got any?” she asked. 

He shook his head after downing another tankard.

“Nope,” he said, “Used my last one about a month ago. Those things are quite hard to come by. Don't ‘spose I'd part with one if I had it.”

Tressa sighed and her face went back to Faida.

“What do you have to eat then?” she asked.

A short time later, they were leaving the inn and walking back to their horses. 

The sun was slowly nearing its sleep behind the mountains, hovering what looked feet away from the peaks.

“Come on,” Tressa said, “We'll make camp a bit away, but we need to hurry or we'll be collecting firewood by moonlight…Well, Kor will be collecting firewood by moonlight.”

Kor wasn't paying attention much. He had a content smile upon his face as he followed behind them.  
He mumbled happily to himself, “I got to drink with the Dragonborn.”

Tressa turned her head towards the Nord as they continued walking.

“You're not drunk, are you?” she asked and then returned her focus ahead of her. 

Kor’s attention snapped to.

“What? Oh, no. No where closhe. I am no lightweight,” he answered. 

“You slurred that a bit,” Cicero pointed out.

“My tongue is lighter than rest of me,” Kor replied to the jester walking in front of him.   
Cicero hadn't bothered to look back at him, so the Nord cheekily flapped his tongue at the man.

“Can you ride?” Tressa asked of his inebriated state.

“Oh, I can ride,” he replied, his tone sounding quite sensual now, “Oh, how I can ri-"

He was abruptly cut off by Cicero kicking back into his shin. 

“OW!!” Kor recoiled in pain, clutching the injury, “Gods, Cicero, was that necessary?!” 

Cicero stood frozen in place. 

Tressa turned around expecting to see him angry and about to rebuke the Nord, but instead he just standing there.  
His focus not on anything in particular and his expression seemed somewhat confused or as if he was trying to recall something.

“Cicero? Hello?” Tressa waved a hand in front of him, “Where’d you go? Are you okay?” &nbsp

Kor hissed and tested his weight on the assaulted leg. 

“Is he okay?!” the Nord snapped, “Really? …Ah, damn, there went my fuzzy little fuzz.” 

Tressa ignored the Nord and clapped her hands in front of Cicero’s face, finally startling him to attention. 

“You okay?” she asked again. 

His eyes darted about for a second, collecting himself.

“Ah, Cicero’s sorry. Wandered off a bit there,” he said as he glanced back at Kor and then back to Tressa. 

He still had a bit of a strange look on his face but replied with an unbothered shrug, “Déjà vu.” 

“Again?” Tressa asked to which Cicero just held his hands up in that shrug. 

The girl looked to Kor now. 

“Can you walk?” she asked. 

The Nord made sure to step out of kicking range before replying yes.

They made it back to their horses, Kor limping just a slight, and mounted up.

They turned and headed back towards the large namesake bridge they crossed earlier.   
Their small detour to this place was going to be to restock and bunk, but since Tressa was not comfortable with a night here, they would make camp off the road.

As they neared the bridge to leave, they saw the guard captain patrolling its entrance.

Tressa slowed Shadowmere’s trot to address the man. 

“You wanted gold for your brothel disguised inn?” she said, “That Dragonborn is spending more than enough to cover weeks worth of patrons. Fair warning, though. From the rumors I’ve heard, he'll rob it all back and then some. Perhaps the innkeep will still share her bed with you once you're out of a job for your lazy attention. Good luck. Or should I say good f-HEY!”

Cicero had given Shadowmere a jolting double heel kick to send the horse into a canter.

“Not funny,” she huffed as the horses quickened across the bridge, “I'm fairly certain we're never going to set foot back there again. Might as well have the last word.”

Cicero gave a chuckle. 

“You keep crossing places off and we'll be out of Skyrim for good,” he said. 

“That's a bad thing?” Tressa replied, “…No offense, Kor.”

They traveled only a short time and stopped in a patch of woods not too far southwest of Dragon Bridge. The sun was beginning to retire behind the mountains, partially peeking its last look upon Skyrim's land for the day.

Enough light still lingered for Tressa to see the sky through the tree tops and see no threat of rain, so she suggested they need not worry about rigging up any tents. A campfire would be plenty cozy enough. 

Kor actually went about collecting the necessary firewood without being prompted to and Cicero went about digging a spot to make the campfire. 

Tressa was digging around their supply bag and taking out the foods she, or actually the Dragonborn, had purchased from the inn.

Her head tilted a bit as she grabbed hold of something near the bottom. 

“What's this?” she asked as she pulled a book from the pack. 

“A book,” Cicero plainly replied in jest, but remembering his insult to illiteracy that she had taken offense to, he quickly added,”..that Cicero packed. For downtime. It's a dramedy, my Listener. You may enjoy reading it.”

“You could've left it at the joke, Cicero,” she said, though he wasn't convinced that she hadn't side-eyed him under that mask, “….I’m quite proud of my reading comprehension, given my late study of it….However, um, …I am still not as versed as you. What is this word?”

She had pointed at the word in question on the title. 

“Equestrian,” Cicero answered. 

“An Equestrian’s Tail,” Tressa read, “What sort of animal is an equestrian?”

“Equestrian means horse rider,” the jester replied, “The use of ‘Tail' there, not t-a-l-e, is just a play on words.”

“Why didn't they just say horse rider?” Tressa flopped the book down, “Uppity writers….Wait, is it some sort of horse rider training book?”

“No, like I said, just a time-passing dramedy,” Cicero responded, “But when Cicero packed it, it did remind him to bring up your riding lesson.” 

“So you're to blame,” the girl pointed accusingly at the book.

Her attention snapped to Kor bringing a double armload of firewood to them. 

He dropped some near Cicero and then tossed the rest of the supply nearby to have on hand for fueling the fire. 

Tressa remarked upon his sufficient and quick skill in gathering the bundles.

“Wood whisperer,” she said. 

“Huh? Wood what?” Kor replied. 

“You’ve got an odd talent at this firewood gathering,” the girl explained. 

“Ah,” Kor nodded, “Well, Aphid and I did a lot of our living outdoors, if we weren't begging, bumming, or working odd jobs from town to town. But a couple kids just trying to survive the woods? Picking up sticks was pretty much the only entertainment we had. Besides fishing. I like fishing.”

“So sad,” Tressa sighed, “Cicero, hug him.”

“He's already gotten a hug,” Cicero replied and began arranging rocks and wood in to place for the fire.

Kor looked at Tressa with a quick wiggle of his brow, mouthing “Watch this.”. 

“Thank you, sir,” the Nord said with a return of his naughty tone, “May I have another?”

Cicero paused.  
Kor began to smirk with triumph, until the jester began laughing. 

The laugh sounded genuine at first, which was what caught Kor off guard, but then it rolled into something malicious. Very malicious.

The laughing came to an abrupt stop as the jester balefully said, “With pleasure.”

He suddenly thwacked Kor painfully across the same injured shin with one of the sticks for the fire. 

It was dead wood, but the impact still sent Kor reeling back in pain, clutching his assaulted leg yet again. 

The Nord let out a long, pained growl and hopped slightly in place.

Cicero dug in further with asking, “Would you like another?” 

Kor let out a hissing breath and sat down. 

“No. Nope,” he said but tried to upkeep his sensual tone through the pain, in hopes it would unnerve the jester in retaliation, “I've learned my lesson, sir.”

Unfortunately for Kor, Cicero was not bothered and replied in return, “There’s a good boy.”

Kor gave a look of defeat. 

“Oh, alright, you win this one,” he said, “I feel if I press any further, we'll end up married and, I got to say,… our relationship just isn't ready for that.”

Cicero smiled slyly and finished readying the spot awaiting ignition. 

The Nord put his focus on Tressa who had put her attentions on unwrapping the food. 

She seemed to sense him looking at her as she glanced his way and then tossed him a half loaf of bread. 

He almost didn't catch it, having not expected the sudden toss. 

And then again, as she tossed him a couple of roasted chicken legs and grilled leeks. 

“That good for you?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah…thanks,” Kor replied, holding the food close to his chest as he had almost dropped the barrage.

Cicero tapped Tressa on the arm. 

“Listener? The fire,” he said. 

Tressa shot a burst of flame on the pile until it ignited and then took what she wanted from the food wrap, leaving the rest to Cicero. 

The jester moved and sat to where she could get into position behind him like usual to eat. 

The sun had now tucked itself behind the mountains to sleep as they occupied themselves with dinner.

Kor had finished his supper and was occupying himself with unbraiding and rebraiding his hair. 

Cicero was idly picking at his food, not having eaten much of it, and was instead reading the book Tressa had pulled from the bag earlier. 

Tressa was taking a swig of her water canteen, finishing off her meal with the wash down. After the gulp, she cheekily tossed the canteen over her head and bonked Cicero on his. 

He startled a little and responded by forcefully leaning back on her, pushing her into her knees. 

She couldn't track enough force to push him back, so she simply laughed it off and placed her mask back on. 

“Alright, alright,” she feigned being short of breath for being pressed so, “Lean up you horker.” 

“Rude,” Cicero commented despite giving the insult a laugh. 

The girl turned around and lazily peeked over his shoulder. 

“How are you reading in this dark? Your book isn't even facing the fire light,” she said, “Do you have eyes of a Khajiit?”

“It's not that dark, Listener,” Cicero explained, “The moonlight is pretty bright tonight…you'd see that better if it wasn't for those dark lenses.”

“I see just fine,” she said, “I stand by that you have extra sharp vision.”

Cicero passed over her stubborn argument and just agreed, “Yes. Probably the carrots. You should eat more of them.”

Tressa gave a disgusted shudder. 

“Urgh, no. I'll have none of them,” she said and then took notice of Cicero's barely touched food.

“But when did you fill up on your carrot stash then?” she asked. 

“Hm? I haven't. Cicero still has them packed away.”

“You've hardly touched dinner,” the girl pointed and then sighed, “….Cicero, go to sleep tonight. Don't try to keep yourself up with a little pang of hunger.”

“I'm hardly hungry, Listener,” he responded, “That late lunch was very filling. And I snacked my cheese. But yes, Cicero was planning on keeping watch.”

“You barely slept last night,” Tressa reminded. 

“Cicero rested well enough this week,” he said, “I can easily forfeit a night or--"

“You've hardly rested at all,” Kor suddenly cut in, “You were worrying on the whereabouts of the Listener and was in and out of the Sanctuary.”

Tressa gave a small laugh.

“Aww, you really worried,” she said. 

“Of course I did,” Cicero replied, “Rather not go through losing yet another Listener and the wait and wait and wait for new one again. Cicero’s not sure, though, if that wait compares to the length of time it takes for you to get groceries.”

“YOU DIDN'T SEE THAT DAMN LIST,” Tressa snapped but then patted Cicero on the shoulder, “But thanks for caring about my title enough to not want me to die.” 

Cicero turned a slight and returned the shoulder pat.

“Aw, but Listener, rest those insecurities. Cicero cares about YOU too, my friend,” he said and then patted her head, “Someone's got to look out for the reckless, little imp. Cicero's got you under his wing.” 

Tressa froze a moment, narrowly missing the chance to swat his patronizing hand away. 

“I am not insecure!” she barked. 

“Oh, but Cicero sees more than you know with these sharp, carrot fed eyes,” the jester smirked. 

“Stop it.”

“You need a hug?” 

“No,” Tressa huffed, “I need a blanket. It's getting colder.”

“Hugs are warm,” Cicero poked fun even further. 

Tressa let out an annoyed sigh as she dug about the pack for a light blanket. 

She fished it out and recoiled herself within it against a large old log near the fire. 

Kor was looking at her with a that smug smile. 

“What?” she questioned his stare. 

“Definitely. No. Nord,” he grinned, “A blanket? In that get up? Near a fire? In this lovely little cool weather?”

The slight upward and rolling movement of her head indicated she was rolling her eyes at him.

“Perhaps it's just cozy…,” she said and turned her head to Cicero, “…for my insecurities.”

The jester responded by scooting up against her. 

“Oh, there-there,” he said, “My shoulder is yours to cry on, my Listener.”

“I'm just going to shut up now,” she said, but actually did lean into him and rest her head on his shoulder, “I'm just going to shut up and go to sleep.”

“Okie-dokie. Nighty-night,” Cicero replied, remaining where he was.

“Good night,” the girl said tersely. 

She was expecting him to move away, but he didn't. 

They sat in quiet for a minute before the jester started his humming.

Tressa immediately rose up for a moment, but then doubled down with her lean on him and more comfortably rested her head on his shoulder. 

Cicero really didn't seem to mind it and simply kept humming. 

He used his foot to drag the cloth that held his uneaten food and his book towards him. 

Once in reach, he took his book in one hand and held the food towards Kor in offering.

The Nord accepted it, still a bit hungry, and all was quiet, except for Cicero's humming and the occasional page turn of the book. 

Kor was being extra careful not to crunch too loudly on the food, especially once he got to the leeks.

After a few minutes of this, Cicero suddenly spoke up in a casual tone.

“You can chomp away now,” he said. 

His lack of whisper made Kor nearly jump and the Nord looked to the jester and then to Tressa. 

“She's out, out, out,” Cicero explained and emphasized this with lightly flexing his shoulder up and down, bobbing the girl with it.

Tressa hardly stirred and only let out a sleeping sigh when he stopped.

Kor looked quizzical.

“What did you do?” he asked as if the clown possibly spelled her unconscious. 

“Nothing,” the jester replied, “Well. My humming may have aided a bit…She is a ridiculously heavy sleeper. Once she trusts that you won't slaughter her in her slumber, that is, but she used to snap awake if Cicero even somehow blinked too loudly.”

Kor straightened and stretched a bit, tossing the scraps of food out into the woods. 

“I guess that means she trusts us, then,” he yawned. 

“Heh,” Cicero shook his head, “From her choice of pillow, I'd say she trusts Cicero to gut you should you try anything.”

“What would I try?” Kor questioned in slight offense.

Cicero shrugged, “She's still unsure or she wouldn't be hiding beside me.” 

“Oh, so I'll know I've passed when she gives me a little snuggle-snuggle?” the Nord remarked.

“You are obnoxiously lewd,” the jester commented. 

“I didn't mean it like that,” Kor waved his hands and sighed.

He didn't quite know how to follow it up, though, so they remained quiet for minute until he thought of something to converse over.

“You've ever peeked under that mask while she's out to the world?” 

Cicero bore a glare into him.

“What? What did I say now?” the Nord asked defensively.

“There are so many things wrong with what you just said, that Cicero doesn't know where to start to berate you or if I should simply slit your throat.”

“Whoa, I just mean the curiosity--"

“Removing a young lady's clothes as she sleeps? You are vile. Just when Cicero thinks you're not so bad, just need a little guidance, I'm going to have to cut you dow--"

“I-I didn't mean it like that,” Kor insisted again, “Really. It's just a mask. I…. you're going to rebuke me, mister murderer?”

“Murderer. Not defiler,” Cicero spat back, “Cicero has stabbed right through quite a few sleeping ladies’ bosoms, yes, but I never ripped their clothes from them to do it.”

“Oh, yes, that's right,” Kor retorted, “You like them older. Much older. And dead.”

Cicero quickly, but carefully, laid Tressa down on her side. 

Kor realized he was probably doing so to come at him.

“Hold on, hold on. Please,” the Nord said, “I'm sorry. Please. Really. All I meant…all I meant was…that you haven't lost the battle of curiosity about what's under there? Not once?” 

Cicero had half way gotten to him, but fortunately seemed to simmer and sat back down near Tressa.

“No,” he answered, “She doesn't want to be seen and Cicero will respect that. As. Should. You.”

“Okay. Yes, I will,” Kor replied, “….I suppose it is more fun to keep guessing anyway.”

Cicero humphed, clearly still coming down off his agitation with Kor. 

It took a little while for the tension to ease enough for Kor to fall asleep.   
He was a little afraid the jester was going to sink a dagger between his bosom for the accidental disrespect. 

But the Nord did finally slip into slumber as Cicero stayed up to keep watch.

Tressa stayed absolutely unconscious, having hardly moved at all. 

Cicero had almost tried to wake her just to make sure she was alright, but her breathing sounded fine, so he let her be. 

The night passed by and it was nearing dawn now.

The jester was purposely laying in an awkward position, reading his book. 

He was practically laying atop his head, as his body and legs were draped over backwards on the log. It did not look comfortable at all, but he was doing it to stay awake and not for comfort. 

He hummed and drummed and read from the book until something caught his attention. 

He did a quick backward somersault off the log and looked about, catching a suspicious movement in the distance of the woods.   
It wasn't any nocturnal wildlife, that was for sure.

He scanned around to be sure it was the only thing bumping around out there and made sure his companions were safe before sneaking off towards the possible threat. 

As Cicero neared, he quickly realized it was indeed a person.   
Someone not very skilled at sneaking &nbsparound, but they were obviously trying to head in the direction of their camp. 

Cicero silently slinked closer and closer and was close enough now to see it was Hragar. 

The jester clutched his dagger and was going to dispatch him immediately, but then changed his mind and brazenly popped out to address the man. 

“We only do daytime shows,” the Imperial clown said as he stepped out from hiding.

Hragar choked down a yelp of fright and clutched his chest. 

Cicero glanced him up and down, noting his casual attire of being off duty, but also made note of the dagger on his hip. 

The jester spoke again.   
“What brings you out of your town at this hour? Bit far for a place to tinkle and you've got a chamber pot, no? No hunting gear….Haha, are you out here to bring justice to the injustices your sleazy guard captain father lets slip for his loins…Naughty son, you are. You'd be overzealous here. We are really just traveling entertainers.” 

Hragar held a stare on him, his hand easing near his dagger. 

Cicero held up a waiting finger and carefully reached into his satchel, pulling from it a few coins. 

“Really, truly,” Cicero said.

He began to juggle the coins effortlessly, doing a few high trick tosses to boot. 

“You think robbers or arsonists have time to learn THIS lowly trade?” the jester asked. 

Hragar watched the juggling act. A quick wash of confliction flashed over his face.

“I'm…,” he began, “I'm just trying to do the right thing and I don't feel right about you people. About that girl. I'm just trying to protect the people I have sworn to.”

Cicero let the coins fall.

“By slaughtering some poor merry makers in the night?” he said as if hurt, “We've done nothing wrong. We hardly stayed a moment at Dragon Bridge.”

“But the girl with you. The fires. Maro's son..,” Hragar stated but his voice began to waver to uncertainty. 

“You are going to hunt down innocent people on a hunch,” Cicero responded, sounding upset, “…Oh, your father turns a blind eye but you're the one that puts the knife in the innocent?”

Hragar looked conflicted again in thought. 

Cicero held up one coin. 

“Look, another trick,” he said and even tossed aside his own dagger, “Cicero will show you, please. He'll show you and you'll be convinced.” 

Hragar looked unsure but Cicero carefully approached him.

The jester held the coin up and slapped it down on the back of his other hand. Upon lifting up his hand the coin was gone. 

Hragar watched with the uncertain face, but watched nonetheless.

Cicero put up the waiting finger again and carefully began reaching by Hragar's ear, pausing to show nothing in his hand when Hragar pulled back a bit. 

Hragar eased some to let Cicero do what he was going to do.

The jester smiled and gave a little gasp as if he found something and then pulled his finding into view. 

It was a dagger.

Hragar's dagger. 

The man's eyes went wide.

“SHI—GAH!”

Cicero quickly plunged it straight into the man’s heart and jumped back with a wicked smile upon his face.

Hragar frantically stumbled and yanked the dagger from his own chest.  
He attempted to retaliate, to go at Cicero, but collapsed quickly, gargling upon his blood.

Cicero gave a skip and picked up his own dagger, placing it back on his belt.   
He then scooped up the coins that fell earlier and began juggling again as he watched the man die, humming happily as he did.

Upon the man's release of life, Cicero bowed and turned away back to the camp.

He saw Tressa arising from her sleep as he approached, her masked face quickly looking about and finding him.

“Where'd you go?” she asked somewhat sleepily, “Something happen?”

“Cicero had to ease his bladder,” he said. 

“Ew,” Tressa responded. 

“You asked,” he replied and gave Kor a light couple of kicks, “Rise and shine, sleepyhead.”

Kor groaned but pushed himself up, rubbing his face in a daze. 

“Morning already?” he whined and yawned, “Why does it feel like a day lasts a month, but a night just a blip.”

“It all drags to Cicero,” the jester replied.

Tressa stood and stretched. 

“Probably because you won't go to sleep,” she remarked. 

Cicero gave her a nag-nagging motion with his hand. 

Tressa ignored it and stretched her limbs some more.

“Ow, my side is both numb and on fire,” she said, “Maybe I should have rented a bed in Dragon Bridge.”

Cicero gave a laugh. 

“What?” the girl questioned the jolly reaction. 

“Oh, nothing,” the jester replied, “Just, uh, you should probably stick to crossing it off your travels.”

“What did you do?....Where'd you really go?”

“Guard captain might not let much slip by anymore,” Cicero shrugged with a smile. 

Tressa poked at him.

“What'd you do? What’d you really do? Who'd you kill?” she asked nosily, “Anything on fire? Is the Dragonborn coming to kill us? OH. Is the Dragonborn dead?—I wanted to kill him. He better not be dead."


	10. Harsh Water

Chapter 10: Harsh Waters

The traveling trio were all ready to mount up as the sun opened its eyes for the day. 

The campfire was snuffed out and the bags hitched up to the horses. 

They all walked to the main road, stretching themselves for the long day of being saddled up.

Tressa seemed to be having a little difficulty with the stretching and looked hesitant on hoisting herself up on Shadowmere. 

“You alright, Listener?” Cicero asked. 

“Yeah,” she replied but still did not try to pull herself up, “Just…really stiff. Feel like I hardly moved a muscle all night.”

Cicero let her step on his hands to lift her up on the saddle and then he pulled himself up behind her. 

He replied to her once he was seated. 

“You hardly did,” he confirmed, “More klonked out than usual. As unmoving as the Night Mother.” 

“That's odd,” Tressa commented, “I figured I had to have been tossing about, what with the cluster of strange dreams I had.” 

She gave Shadowmere a kick and got them moving. Kor and Snowberry right behind of course. 

Cicero kept up the chatter by asking, “What'd ya dream about? Dance lessons? Oh! Oh-oh! Cicero would love to hold instruction for that next!” 

Tressa laughed a little. 

“We already covered that. You taught me that dance we did on Jester's Day , all day, around Nazir,” she said.

“Hahaha, oh Cicero remembers it fondly!” the jester cackled, “Ah, that Nazir pranked us good, too. Cicero was absolutely convinced he was indeed going to kill us ha hahahahaha!....But. I have a plethora of dances, shuffles, and jiggity jigs, my Listener. Let's make a schoolroom in the Sanctuary! We must, we must!” 

“Calm down, you wiggly-wirely early worm,” Tressa chuckled, “Before the birds get you.”

Cicero bounced a bit but simmered down and questioned Tressa again. 

“So, what was those dreamy dreams, Listener?” he asked again. 

“It's hard to explain, really,” she replied, “….Weird and…foreboding? This quest in my subconscious, I guess.”

“Sometimes dreams are more than just dreams,” the jester commented. 

“Oh, thanks, “Tressa sighed, “You told me not to worry before and now you say something like that.” 

Cicero gave a soft chuckle. 

“It doesn't mean you have to worry, Listener,” he said, “Are the dreams that unsettling?” 

Tressa was silent a moment before responding. 

“Nah. I don't think so,” she said, seeming unbothered. 

She threw out an idle topic to discuss instead and they idly chatted as their early morning travel commenced. 

They traveled for about an hour and a half before coming upon an encampment settled in a small rock gorge bordering a section of the road. 

Cicero reached around Tressa and forced her to halt Shadowmere. 

“Hey, what?” she questioned his sudden act, “You could just ask me to hold. You didn't have to--"

An arrow embedded itself in the ground before them, catching Tressa's attention back to the gorge. She saw the bandit upon a raggedy, makeshift bridge readying another shot at them. 

Cicero reminded her, “Robber's Gorge, Listener.” 

“I thought we cleared them out that other time,” Tressa said to which Cicero responded:

“Bandits and cockroaches are one and the same.” 

The particular cockroach on the bridge decided to be kind enough to offer an option for them.

“Pay the toll,” she said, “With gold or your life…though I don't think you'll make it far beyond here without the latter.”

Tressa gave a quick snort and then answered back. 

“We'll pay!” she said. 

“Wise,” the bandit snickered, “Here I thought you funny lookin' lot were gonna try something funny….Off your horses. Approach the pass.”

The trio dismounted and began approaching the entrance of the pass.

Kor leaned a little close to Tressa and quietly questioned her motive.

“We're not paying, are we?” he asked. He could see the sly expression on Cicero's face which answered his question for him. 

“I'm assuming,” Kor added towards Tressa, “that you've got the same eager grin under there that he's got.” 

He heard Tressa's quiet laugh at that. 

They stood before a couple bandits guarding the entrance with the bridge bandit smirking down at them. 

“Now let's see ‘ere,” one of the entrance guards said as he stepped closer, “….three of ya, eh. How's ‘bout 100 a piece. Wait, wait, wait. Chiefs been in such a nice mood today…I'm in a fine mood too. 250 for all ya.” 

Tressa shook her head.

“Oh, we're not paying with gold,” she said. 

“Eh?” the bandit guard's face fell but then displayed a smirk. He placed a hand on the hilt of his dagger, “Payin’ with lives, then?” 

Tressa nodded, “Oh that’s neat, you really followed the script in my head… Your lives, yes.” 

She quickly shot a spray of ice spikes into the heads of the two guards before her and through the chest of the one up above on the bridge. 

She and her companions then quickly tucked themselves to the sides of the entrance, waiting on the remaining bandits hurrying to the scene. 

These ruffians proved not very tactic as two of them immediately rushed out, giving Kor the opportunity to run them through with his short swords. 

Two more that were following behind had sense enough to at least backpedal when witnessing this, but Cicero had snuck about and found an opening elsewhere. 

That's when one of the backpedalers found their self right in the jester's clutches as the clown snatched hold and slit their throat. 

The other backpedaling bandit attempted to help the seized comrade, but then became frightened at the horrifically quick end of their friend. 

Cicero's sinister smile and peppy stride unnerved the bandit even further, as the Imperial clown was inching happily towards him. 

The frightened thug made haste to run away but found himself pierced right through by Kor's short sword. 

The Nord only had to hold his blade out in front of himself, as the bandit was so blinded by fear that he had ran straight into it, fatally impaled. 

Kor kicked the dying man off his sword and jammed the blade through his skull to end his gurgling. 

“Hate that noise,” the Nord remarked as he pried the blade out. 

Cicero had been laughing from the moment the bandit impaled himself, but when he heard Kor's remark, he began imitating the gurgling noise at the Nord.

Kor gave a shudder of repulsion and began knocking at Cicero with the handle of his short sword. 

It only encouraged the jester to reenact the impalement and gurgle even more grossly. 

Tressa had come up upon them then, giving a simmer down sort of hand motion, and she turned her head about. 

“None of these guys look much like a bandit chief,” she said, “….Where is the burly coward?”

As if on cue, a ruckus was heard from a tent up the hill of the pass. 

Just as the three were about half way to it, a frantic and nearly entirely nude woman burst out and down the hill. 

She was hollering and crying, “Don't kill me! Please! I’m not a bandit! I'm not a bandit! I am working for my coin! I haven't harmed a soul, ever! I am just a bed warmer! Please don't kill me!”

The three stood at ready in case it was a ploy, but the woman cowered down on the ground before them, clutching only a small sheep skin blanket. 

“Ooh,” Kor remarked, “It's the chief's good mood.” 

That said chief then emerged quickly from the tent as well, hurrying up the lacing of his britches and sloppily trying to keep hold of his sword in the bend of his arm. 

The three looked upon the scene as if it was all just terribly lackluster with Tressa giving a underwhelmed sigh and shake of her head. 

She gave Kor and Cicero a nod to dispatch the chief and she then pointed to the nude woman on the ground. 

“Go. Get out of here,” Tressa spared the woman, “…I believe Dragon Bridge has a brothel now. Perhaps sell your wares there under the safety of a guard.” 

The lady fearfully hesitated for a moment but then nodded graciously and pushed up. 

She still clutched the small blanket tightly to herself, as she carefully evaded the two men making way to her clumsy ex-client. 

She meekly thanked Tressa and cautiously slinked pass the masked girl to head out the gorge. 

Tressa followed her until they neared the entrance and then gave her one last nod and watched her go. 

She then turned her attention back to Cicero and Kor right as they both slayed the chief together.  
The Nord ran his swords through the clumsy bandit’s abdomen and the jester yanked the man's head up upon his doubling over, piercing his dagger through the roof of the man's screaming mouth. 

Cicero then looked to Kor as if expecting a thank you for ending the gurgling before it could begin. 

Kor was just about to sarcastically oblige when Cicero suddenly startled to attention in Tressa's direction.

“LISTENER! BEHIND YOU!” the jester shouted fast and bolted even faster towards her. 

Tressa spun around, or at least attempted to, but her sudden turn sent a sharp pain up her side due to her earlier stiffness, which caused her to freeze for just the slightest of a moment.

The slight moment was nearly enough for the nude woman to almost have her, as the woman had snuck back upon Tressa with a dagger that had been concealed beneath the blanket. 

Right when the nude woman was about to sink the weapon into Tressa, Cicero had slung his own dagger with lucky accuracy and embedded it straight into the woman's shoulder. 

She reeled back in pain and hadn't a chance to recover before Kor had rushed the scene and sheered her head clean off with a quick scissor of his swords.

The woman's body dropped to the ground, thudding just before her separated head did. 

Kor actually seemed to avoid glancing at her body, despite his usual perverse nature, as it went down and plopped in all its natural form. 

He tried to respectfully gaze elsewhere as he flipped her blanket with his foot back over the most intimate of her areas, hopefully. 

He turned expecting the other two to give him a heckle or sarcastic praise about it, but instead Tressa was still leaning over squeezing at her side and Cicero was firmly staring at the Listener. &nbsp

The jester then suddenly grabbed Tressa by her arm and spun her his way, causing her to once again wince in pain, but the mad jester was mad and began snipping at her. 

“Listener! How could you almost let yourself fall dead to something like that!” he barked, “Something so amateur. Something we do like child's play!”

Tressa yanked her arm away from him, causing the sharp pain again on herself. 

“Ow, damn it!” she hissed and barked back, “Well, look at me! Damn. Also, I doubt she would have landed a killing blow. This leather is more durable than it looks. Little gash, maybe, but--"

“How did you not hear her?” Cicero questioned, “You letting that mask shroud your senses today?” 

“Calm down, teacher,” Tressa snipped back, “What, are you about to have me write lines over it? She. Was. Stark. Naked. Not much to jostle around except those floppy milk bags—Oh, hey. Kor. Look at you being all respectful. Covered her up, you gentleman you. Or is she just not your type?” 

Kor snapped out of the awkward wait of them to quit squabbling and responded, “Any floppy milk bags are my type.” 

Cicero's agitated expression eased and he looked to Kor with an arched brow. 

“Goats have floppy milk bags,” the jester replied.

Kor sighed, “Not what I mean. Gods, not what I--"

“The giant I castrated was a little portly,” Cicero poked fun more, “Should I have saved his souvenirs for you?”  
“Stop. No. Just. Forget I said anything.”

Cicero and Tressa were both snickering at him, but then the jester refocused on the Listener.

“Stretch,” he said in an almost demanding tone, “Stretchy stretch. Stretch it out.” 

Tressa sighed and did a quick stretch up before slinging her arms down and replying, “I'm good. Let's go. I'm fine.” 

Cicero narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her and did a drastic side lean. 

“Look Cicero in his eyes and say that,” he challenged her to lean with him. 

Tressa accepted the challenge and quickly slung herself into a side lean as well. 

She; however, couldn't prevent the pained squeak that escaped her and slumped forward. 

“Urgh,” she huffed, “Okay…I'll be okay. I think I'm desensitizing to it now….especially after that. Thanks.”

They rejoined their horses and resumed their travel. 

The terrain began producing more rock than forests and inclined more and more as they went. 

They were still far from Markarth, but with this scenery, they most certainly had entered the outskirts of The Reach.

They took a break from travel around mid-morning to rest the horses, as the inclining terrain was becoming more taxing.

They also decided it wise to have brunch, as Cicero was becoming increasingly irritable from the combination of hunger and lack of sleep. 

It was noticeable in his lack of laughter and the rising increase of snippy retorts in conversation, so a break they took. 

And it did help, as the horses seemed renewed in endurance and Cicero began his myriad of jokes once more as they continued travel. 

It was shy past noon when they neared another familiar landmark reared out of a small mountain side.

“The Broken Tower place,” Tressa commented, “Looks empty. At least out here.”

“Mhm,” Cicero affirmed, his input beginning to dwindle again as the food had pepped him up but his exhaustion was setting in. 

Tressa looked her lens over her shoulder at him.

“You need a nap, buddy,” she said.

“Cicero is fi—Ai!!” the jester was in the midst of reply when he was suddenly struck atop a shoulder by a large rock.

The hard strike knocked him off Shadowmere and he fell upon his assaulted shoulder. 

“Cicero!” Tressa startled and was about to hop off the horse to cover him, but Shadowmere riled up and made her cling to his mane to keep from slipping and hitting the ground as Cicero did. 

Kor, thankfully, had spotted the attacker and was already scaling the slope at the side of the fortress to the second level.

However, with Cicero still scrambling to get up with the injured shoulder and Tressa trying to calm Shadowmere, it was leaving them open. 

Tressa didn't like that, but she saw the attacker now too, a Forsworn man aiming another rock at Kor as the Nord climbed near. 

Tressa decided it best to leap off Shadowmere on his next rearing up and she fortunately landed on her feet. 

As soon as she realized her footing caught, she shot an ice spike towards the attacker before he could sling the rock on Kor. 

The Forsworn man saw it coming and tucked out of view. 

Kor quickly yanked himself up the wall and bounded atop, Tressa seeing him unsheathe his short swords just before disappearing out of view too. 

She quickly focused on Cicero and helped him to his feet. 

“You okay?” she asked, attempting a healing spell on his shoulder. 

The clown hissed as he rotated his shoulder, “Urgh, it's not busted, but that really, REALLY hurt. Thank Mother that rock didn't hit my head instead.” 

Tressa nodded and her healing spell seemed to ease the pain a little as the jester unwound his arm more, but the sound of weapons clashing up above grabbed their attention. 

“Kor!” Tressa called out.

They could hear him fending off more than just one attacker now.

“We need to get up there,” she said and looked between the door of the bottom entrance and the slope Kor climbed as if trying to wager the quickest route. 

Just as she was about to decide, they heard Kor roar angrily and silence fall. 

“Kor!” Tressa called. 

Nothing. 

She looked towards Cicero who was grumbling, “Stupid Forsworn….”.

“Kor!” Tressa called again. They still couldn't hear anything and were about to check the scene.

“Right here,” the Nord finally answered, coming into view with one of the Forsworn attackers held in his hand, grasped by their neck. 

This person was clawing frantically at Kor's forearm, as he was choking the remainder of their life from them. 

The Nord dangled them over the ledge, giving their trachea a nearly crushing squeeze before tossing them down to the ground. 

They thudded near Tressa and Cicero and barely clung to life now.

The jester took the opportunity to hover over the mangled mess with a delightful grin. 

This attacker wasn't the one who hit him with a rock, but Cicero wasn't picky about it nor had he seen which one had done it anyway.

He happily took his dagger in hand and taunted its tip across the face and neck of this twitching, dying mess. 

Cicero was quite pleased that they were just alive and aware enough to show the agonizing fear in their eyes. 

His grin widened as he spoke the last words the poor soul would ever hear, “You Forsworn think you're so scary….Cicero will show you who’s scary…”.

Tressa let the Imperial clown be as he took his time with the splat of a person on the ground. 

She looked up to Kor and asked, “How many were up there?” 

“Five, but they were pretty ill equipped,” he said, “….Are you sure you guys are professionals?” 

He saw Cicero shoot a glare up at him and point his bloody dagger his way.

Despite the aggressive looking stance he had, the jester casually explained, “Cicero had a lapse of attention. It happens to anyone….besides, Cicero is running on barely any steam. What's your excuse? …You too, Listener.” 

Tressa made a puh of annoyance, “You distracted me.”

Kor folded his arms and retorted as well, “Hey, I was on top of this. Literally.”

Cicero gave a shrug and nodded, “You were….Aaand you have been. Bandits. The dragon. Cicero can't speak for the Listener, but I am actually a bit proud of you so far.” 

The Nord didn't really know how to react to Cicero easily acknowledging his competence.

Kor was hesitant for a moment, and wondered if it was a joke, but then the Nord found himself spatting out, “Especially that dragon! I had never fought one before!”

Cicero nodded again, “Especially that dragon.” 

Kor almost cocked his head at this easy agreement between them, but instead he smiled proudly and looked to Tressa. 

“Have I passed this test yet, Listener?” he asked as he sat down on the ledge of the wall.

“There's still quite a journey ahead of us,” she said, “Plenty of opportunities to slip up. Just like if there were more of these assholes inside. One could be sneaking up on you right now to kick you off that edge.” 

Kor did a quick glance behind himself, as if expecting to see just that, but no one had come out. 

He gripped the ledge and hopped on one of the stone arches jutting from the wall and then did a quick slide down.

“Slip up, huh?” he asked once he was near Tressa and Cicero, “Like you two almost did? Like you did earlier with the nude woman? Like you also did with nearly zapping Cicero to death, oh, and losing his hat?”

Tressa's stance seemed ready to argue, as she had placed her hands firmly to her hips, but then she tossed her hands up and then patted Kor's arm before waving towards their horses. 

“Come on,” she said, “Let's get going before we find out we're outnumbered by an army of fumbling Forsworn in there.”

Tressa clicked for Shadowmere, who had since calmed down, but the horse still seemed a bit on edge as he approached. 

Snowberry was a bit nervous too, as both the horses were snorting and blowing at the air. 

Cicero patted Shadowmere on his snout and looked about the surrounding area, but he couldn't see anything. 

That didn't mean nothing was there. The increasing hills, rocksides, and mountains made The Reach quite a hazardous hold to traverse. 

Not just from the stressful terrain, but that terrain made sure there was an abundance of places to be ambushed or even picked off from the roost of an enemy archer. 

Cicero was sure to keep the bow that was hitched to Shadowmere on hand when they mounted. 

They were all on alert now after the careless incidents so far today. 

But it still wasn't enough to see what was putting their horses in unease. 

They continued with some caution, down a slope heading towards a stone bridge that was stretched over a gushing river far below it. 

Cicero was dead quiet now, which only meant one thing. 

He was very intently listening to something.

“What is it?” Tressa whispered.

“Shh,” he shushed her, “…breathing.” 

“You out of breath?” 

“No, shh! Listen, Listener,” he said. 

Tressa listened but could only hear the river up ahead. 

“I hear the water,” she said, “Are you sure you're not hyper focused on our own breathing?”

“Stop talking, please,” he finally said curtly. 

Tressa always thought it too ironic, and sometimes laughable, anytime he attempts to shush others. 

She shook her head and did her best to hold in her urge to snicker about it, but then she finally picked up on the sound too. 

She glanced at Kor who also seemed to be hearing it now as well. 

Cicero tapped Tressa's arm and she somehow just knew he meant for that to mean stop the horse. 

They were right at the entrance of the bridge when they stopped.

Cicero turned around backwards on Shadowmere and was scanning the rocky slope behind them.   
He had an arrow at ready to aim as he knew he could hear something up higher on the rocks.

Then he spotted it. 

“Hagraven!” he said as he let loose an arrow at the breathy monstrosity eyeing them from its hiding place among the rocky slope. 

Cicero's arrow barely missed as the hagraven gave an angry shrill and jumped atop a rock to let loose a destructive fireball. 

As she did, they saw another fireball being cast their way from the opposite side of the slope. 

There were two hagravens. 

Miraculously, they all avoided both impacts of the explosive fiery blasts.  
Shadowmere had burst forward enough on the bridge to avoid it and Snowberry had also instinctively got out of dodge. 

But the hagravens quickly hurled another round at them. 

The trio dismounted the horses to send them out of danger, everyone narrowly escaping the blasts yet again.

Tressa ran off the bridge to hurl explosive spells back at the attackers as Cicero moved back further on the bridge, just a tad out of range of the fireballs aimed mostly at Tressa now, and he slung arrows towards one of the hags. 

Kor was halfway up the slope to find a path to charge at one of the hagravens when he heard Cicero give a yip of surprise. 

He and Tressa glanced back to see a Forsworn Briarheart had grabbed hold of the jester, who was vainly kicking and twisting in his hold. 

They also saw another Briarheart pulling himself up over the stone ledge of the bridge.   
The two Forsworn must have somehow been clinging underneath, awaiting to ambush. 

“Kor! Help Cicero!” Tressa hollered as she focused on deflecting the hagravens now quick session of rapid fireballs.

Kor had already turned face and was headed to aid Cicero. 

The Forsworn that held the Imperial turned to face the other Forsworn that was approaching with an axe in hand. 

Then the one that held Cicero maneuvered the jester so that his chest was open for a fatal blow. 

Kor picked up the pace with a bursting sprint. 

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit,” he panted out as he ran. He did not trust his accuracy to throw his weapon upon the advancing Forsworn the way Cicero had done earlier to the nude lady that closed in on Tressa.   
Kor was certain he'd only ruin the Forsworn's kill by killing Cicero himself. 

Kor heard Tressa give a panicked gasp, as she no doubt had seen that he wasn't going to make it in time. 

The Nord glanced at her only long enough to see her attempt to send a spell towards the Forsworn, but she was knocked down by two direct hits from the hags before she could fire. 

The advancing Forsworn was upon the jester now. Kor was nearly there, but just not enough. 

The Forsworn attacker raised his axe.

And swung.

And the blade of the axe whisped just a hair from Cicero's chest, falling short and swinging away.

It did so due to the clog of Shadowmere’s hoof connecting with the attacker's head. 

The horse had triumphantly came to the rescue.

“ATTA BOY!” Kor cheered for the animal’s aid, having not even seen the beast coming up the bridge due to his focus on the Forsworn.

Cicero also gave a hearty laugh about the rescue, but unfortunately and horribly, the assailant holding him took focus of the horse and of Kor who had closed in and he tossed the jester off the bridge to the far drop of the river below. 

Kor had been just feet away and his relieved face for the save just a mere moment ago, fell into shock. 

“SHIIIT!” the Nord roared in anger.  
He was right there. He could have immediately gone to free him before that Forsworn had done something, but he failed. He slipped up. Big time.

But tossing Cicero away did prove a mistake on the Forsworn's part as well, as it left him with no shield against the furious Nord, and horse, that rushed him before he could unsheathed his own weapons. 

Kor ran both his swords through the opened hole of the Forsworn's chest, straight into the Briarheart. 

The enemy fell dead immediately, but Shadowmere trampled him anyway in rightful fury.  
Kor was sure to run a blade through the heart of the other fallen Briarheart too and stomped his face for good measure.

The Nord looked to Tressa who had just unleashed that immense shock spell of hers onto the hags. 

She seemed to have managed a bit of control on it, having split it to target both witches at once. 

Even with the manipulation, it was still powerful enough to end them. They shrieked in horrible pain and fell dead much the same way as the dragon, with bolts having torn them fatally so.

Tressa then very quickly turned to the bridge, having evidently seen the toss of her companion as she frantically raced to look below. 

“Gods, no. Sithis, no. No. No. No. Please no,” Kor could hear her muttering in panic as she looked to the river.

The Nord scanned about too and even found himself hoping to not see the pester of a jester broken upon a rock in the water. 

They didn't see him mangled upon the rocks of the river, but they did finally see glimpses of his lifeless body in the rapids further down. 

Kor suddenly pulled himself atop the ledge of the bridge and jumped. 

Tressa gasped and had reflexively tried to grab him, as she was certain he was only about to achieve becoming lifeless himself, but the Nord manage to safely land the water and let it quicken him to the shoreline below. 

He got onto land and ran as fast as he could to catch up to Cicero. 

The jester was in the rapids, but thankfully the rushing water wasn't dragging him away faster than the Nord could ever catch up. 

Miraculously as well, Cicero's body ended up getting pinned to a rock, giving Kor the chance he needed to jump in and retrieve him. 

The Nord leapt into the rapids and fought the current with his Nordic strength and determination. 

He reached his comrade's body and pulled him upright and his head out of the water. 

The glimpse he got of Cicero's face did not bode well, but all he could think about was how the funny guy was going to be awfully upset that his hat was missing again. 

He kicked and pulled and kicked and pulled to get them to the shoreline, finally finding purchase beneath them. 

As he was dragging Cicero ashore and laying him down on his back, Tressa had caught up and slid as quick as she could down the steep slope near them. 

She dropped next to Cicero and immediately noticed his blueish-grey complexion. 

“Kor! Kor! He's not breathing! Is he already de— Wait!” she said and put her hands to her head, “Shit. Shit. What is that method they…Hold on. Okay.”

She repositioned Cicero, tilting his head back and chin up just a bit, and placed a balled fist to his chest, clasping her other hand over it and began pumping as hard as she could. 

Kor was vaguely familiar with the technique, having seen a fisherman do this with a reckless village child.   
It didn't end well for that child and seeing Cicero's lack of response as she worked was not leading him to think this was going to end any different.

“Kor!” Tressa snapped at him, “Help me!” 

“W-What am I suppose to do?” he asked. 

“Give him air!” she ordered. 

“What? Like give him some space?” the Nord questioned.

“NO! AIR!” she snapped again.

She was about to explain that she means the method of blowing air into his lungs, but Kor then remembered the fisherman having done that too and scooted towards Cicero's head. 

“Wait, yeah okay,” he said, calling upon his memory and clamping Cicero's nose shut.

If it wasn't for the literal life and death scenario before them, he would have boldly refused to put his lips upon the fool.   
Perhaps crack a few jokes for dinner first, but the grim face and facts laid before him. 

He got to work in aiding Tressa in this revival attempt.  
  
The two worked in tandem as she pumped, and pumped, and pumped, and pumped and he gave the necessary breaths when called upon.

It felt like they were looping these efforts for a terribly grim length of time. 

Kor couldn't see Tressa's face under the mask, but he could feel her dread and even hear the increasing sorrow in her efforts as they appeared to be failing in bringing forth a sign of life.

He could also see Tressa’s strength dwindling as her pumps were weakening.

And Cicero was still not responding. 

Kor sat up after giving the jester another blow of air. He looked at Tressa to see her still trying the best she could, but he knew she was feeling the same heavy weight of knowing that he was. 

He didn't want to say it, as Tressa obviously wasn't ready to admit it done yet, so he instead decided to provide her one last effort and suggest they switch roles.

“Listener. Tressa,” he said, “Catch your breath, let's switch. I can pump harder than you anywa--"

Kor was cut off by Cicero suddenly jerking about and beginning to sputter up water. 

He and Tressa both gasped at the sudden revival and quickly worked to keep him revived. 

Tressa rolled the jester on to his side and she and Kor both helped him clear his lungs of the river. 

Cicero heaved and coughed so much water from his lungs, and probably stomach too, that Tressa was worried he'd still suffocate before ever being able to take a breath. 

“Breathe! Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe!” she insisted fiercely while she pounded on the jester's back, as if that would drastically quicken the emptying of the water within him.

Cicero did finally manage to take a long, gasping breath of air. 

He even attempted to talk. 

“I'm….try..ing,” he rasped out, “S-stop..hitting…me.”

Tressa and Kor held back as Cicero took the desperately needed air into his lungs, coughing and wheezing here and there, but he finally began to stabilize. 

His color returned, although still slightly paled. He looked at the river and in the direction of the bridge he had been thrown from, recollecting and piecing what had happened. 

“S-stupid Forsworn,” he said. 

Tressa and Kor visibly relaxed and sighed.

“Yeah,” Kor gave a little laugh, “Don't even know how to use a meat shield….Even a water logged brain can figure that out.”

Cicero gave a meek “heh" but quickly put a hand to his temple. 

“Yes, Cicero's brain is soggy…. probably concussed too,” the jester said.

Kor looked to Tressa.

“Can you heal that?” he asked to which Cicero quickly responded for her. 

“She is not practicing that skill on Cicero's noggin, uh uh,” he said. 

Tressa chuckled a bit and retorted.

“Yeah, it'd take a true master of the arcane to fix that brain,” she said. 

“Exact—wait, hey,” Cicero replied giving her that firm glare, “Be nice to me. I almost died.” 

“Oh, okay,” the girl nodded, “Sure.”

She clung to him in a hug, causing him to wince and gasp for air again. 

“Ow, ow! Let go! Nevermind! Don't be nice! It's worse!” he said as she mischievously laughed. 

When she released him, he put a hand back to his aching head and finally took notice that his hat was gone.

“Aaaaw, no,” he whined, “Stupid, stupid, stupid Forsworn!” 

“I know, buddy,” Tressa sighed, “I'm sorry. I think it's gone for good this---Oh, wait no, there it is!” 

“Don't be nice, but don't be so cruel either!” Cicero moped, figuring her to be jesting. 

“No, really! Look!” she said and pointed to the cap coming down the river, having apparently gotten snagged up and now released at the perfect time for them to see it. 

Kor hopped up. 

“Gods of rivers and funny hats be praised!” he cheered, “I got it…Again, I might add.” 

The Nord rushed in after it and retrieved the cap for their jester companion. 

Cicero happily plopped the soaked hat atop his head and looked to Tressa.

“Ready to go, Listener?” he asked. 

Tressa could see the dizziness still present in his gaze and hear the strain in his voice.   
He may seem relatively peppy and lively, but he did in fact just narrowly claw his way back to life. 

“Are you?” she bounced the question back, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I've been dropped from a bridge and beaten and mashed against rocks like a dirty rug to a washboard….Also, either Cicero's lungs are on fire or my ribs are broken…Probably both.”

“I..I'll heal what I can when my magicka replenishes,” Tressa replied with what seemed like a tone of guilt for not having the mana to even seal a scrape. 

It didn't take Cicero but a moment to put together why her magicka was depleted. 

“Did you zap Cicero on top of everything else too?” he asked. 

“No!” she quickly defended, “Not this time, so HA!....But I am sorry I can't ease your battered bones right now.”

The jester gave a smile and lightly patted her bicep. 

“It's alright, Listener,” he said, “It's certainly not the first time Cicero has been in excruciating pain, haha.”

Tressa stood up and helped Cicero to his feet.   
He most certainly was pretty battered. 

He was trying to laugh it off, or laughing simply because it was the only thing he could do, but the pain was obvious. 

He also looked very wobbly once on his feet and appeared to be a bit woozy too. 

There was no way he was going to get up the slope with them by himself, so Kor decided to dive right in and toss the jester over his shoulders almost as if he were a funny scarf. 

“Ai! GAH! OW! Hey!” Cicero snapped and reeled in pain, but he had no strength to physically fight this hold, “What are you doing!?”

“Carrying you up the hill,” Kor explained plainly, “Besides we're married now. Had us quite a make-out session by this romantic river. Took my breath away you did.” 

Cicero seemed to be dawning with the realization of how exactly he was revived and simply sighed.

Kor gave a sly chuckle and started up the hill. 

“Come along, my bride,” he said, “I'll be gentle as can be.”

They made their way to the top to see their horses had found them and were waiting patiently. 

Kor carried Cicero to Shadowmere, who snorted softly and sniffed at the jester's head before giving him a gentle nuzzle. 

Cicero reached out and patted his snout.

“I'm happy to be alive too, boy,” he said. 

Tressa mounted up as Kor helped Cicero get seated behind her. 

Once the two were situated, the Nord hoisted up on Snowberry.   
He looked to Tressa who very carefully got Shadowmere moving forward as not to jolt Cicero too hard and have him tumble off from pain. 

Kor trotted Snowberry up beside them and asked Tressa, “Are we stopping in Karthwasten? It's the closest town.”

“No, nothing but a mining town. Not even an inn there,” she said, “…But a little further up from them is a home of a miner we did help once upon ago.”

“Pavo,” Cicero recalled.

“Yeah, sounds right,” Tressa nodded, “He's a friendly fellow. Sithis spare him that the Forsworn haven't reclaimed his mine or taken his life. He should allow us a night in his home. Plus, he's got a small hot pond nearby. That should definitely help your bruised bones, Cicero. Warm you up too. Those wet clothes can't be too snuggly right now…”

“Eh, they're pretty clingy,” he said. 

“Do you even have a spare suit?” Kor asked him.

“No,” Cicero replied, “…but I do have a boring, drabby set of our Brotherhood leather. Cicero isn't hopping off and on this horse to change now though…I can wait.” 

“Hey,” Tressa mocked offense, “I'm clad in our armor. I'm drabby?” 

“Your mask adds a neat touch,” the jester replied. 

“Aw, thanks,” she chirped, “But you sure you want to soak in that soggy suit? It might be a couple hours or so before we get to Pavo's.”

“Well, we're all about to be wet soon anyway,” Cicero responded to which Tressa looked over her shoulder at him to see what he was talking about. 

She literally saw what he was talking about as she followed his eyes towards the storm clouds rolling in from the near distance. 

She gave a little grumble and carefully picked up their pace as Cicero sighed, “When it rains…it pours…”.


	11. Getting to Know You....A Little More

Chapter 11: Getting to Know You….A Little More

The rain had soon caught up to them, drenching them down in intermittent spurts as they made their way to Pavo's home.

It was still a considerable distance away and the now slippery, slopey, rocky terrain was giving Tressa reason to be cautious with Shadowmere, which meant their pace had slowed.

She had thought about passing the reigns to Cicero and let him handle what she considered hazardous horse riding, but she could tell he was more than a bit out of focus.

She could hear the strain in his voice as he sang about the rain in drabby tune.

“It's raining~ It's pouring~,” he gave a tired effort, “The bandit is snoring~ We clubbed his head~ And now his dead~ And we'll take his camp by morning~.”

The exhausted jester was practically slumped onto Tressa as well.

She did not think him in any condition to be reigning the horse for her, but he has surprised her plenty of times before with how quick he could switch gears on his energy and mood.

But he did narrowly escape the clutches of the void just a bit ago. He perhaps needed a little break.

His exhaustion must have been quite visibly evident, as Kor had pulled Snowberry to their side and the Nord held out an arm as if to catch the jester should he slide.

The Imperial clown straightened up and attempted to sound peppier at that.

“Your bride needs a break from those big, burly arms,” he joked and played into Kor's usual teasing, “Save it for the consummation.”

Kor gave a small laugh.

“Oh, we all know you'll ‘have a headache' or ‘need some sleep’,” the Nord jested back.

“Oh, no no,” Cicero replied, “My eyes are rather wide awake, you know,…after nearly being shut forever….But Cicero's pounding noggin' is a bit…”

Tressa cut in on him.

“Sunken?...Waterlogged?..Saturated?” she offered numerously soaked options, “…How about wish-washy?”

The jester gave her a sarcastic laugh.

Tressa mocked it back.

“I know, I know,” she said, “I'm dripping with humor. The jokes flow out as rapidly as a river…”

Cicero then gave a snort.

“Yes, yes. Haha. The jokes are soaking in. Cicero nearly drowned,” he replied, “Perhaps you should have let me. You clearly don't need a jester anymore.”

“Eh,” Tressa retorted, “That hat would clash with my mask.”

“Indeed it would,” the clown agreed.

They clogged along in the rain as a steadier downpour picked up.

Mud began seeping through the uneven cobble road and Tressa could hear it increasingly splattering underneath the horses' hooves.

As the road began inclining once again, she inwardly worried that Shadowmere may slip, but Cicero didn't seem worried.

That, or he was too tired to worry.

She could hear him attempt a hum here and there, but he didn't seem to have the energy to keep a tune.

Perhaps a Forsworn would pop out and knock him with a rock again. That'd certainly wake him back up.

Instead the universe, in all its sense of humor, decided to prey upon them both with a marvelous thunderclap.

She and Cicero both gave a yelp, Kor an expletive, and the horses a jolting grunt as their gait wavered a slight.

It seemed the rain was welcoming in a rolling boomer.

Tressa halted Shadowmere and half turned on the horse to address both Cicero and Kor.

“Think we should hold off until this boom holds off?” she asked.

Cicero looked at the sky for a moment before answering.

He gave a shrug and said, “We should be fine as long as we don't get zappy zappity zap zap zapped.”

The universe's good humor gave a relatively close bolt and boom at that.

Kor and Cicero couldn't see Tressa's face, but her stilled demeanor was telling.

“You're glaring at me, aren't you?” Cicero asked.

“Mhmm.”

“Cicero's not the one with the shocking power, my Listener,” the Imperial clown replied and then somewhat quietly added “...Though it'd serve you right to get a dose of a bolt…”

“If it hits me, it's going to hit you too, you know,” Tressa responded and began to turn forward in her saddle correctly, but as she was doing so, the universe once again laughed at them with a strike of a bolt straight to the ground, perhaps merely fifty feet ahead.

The loud crack and thunderous boom startled them all, but especially their horses.

The beasts both kicked up, and due to Tressa not being seated correctly, she slipped into a fall.

Cicero had hooked his legs tightly on the horse's sides and held the back of the saddle with one hand, but the flash had blinded him from seeing Tressa's tumble.

He had reached his free hand up to grab her out of instinct when Shadowmere bucked, knowing that she'd be unsteady whether seated correctly or not, but he missed the grip and she hit the cobble below.  
The back of her head hit harshly on a particularly jutting rock.

And all went dark for her.

How long, she didn't know.

She opened her eyes to a haze and a blur of a ceiling.

She rose up and immediately looked about for her companions only to quickly realize the hazy room she was in.

The very same from her dreams.

She wondered if she was really there for a moment, but the dream state of her surroundings were too blatant to be of the waking world.

She looked about for the sarcophagus, expecting the same from this dream as it has been previous.

And there it was. As it has been.

But instead of the gnarled, dry rotten fingers of the Night Mother clasping the edges of its doors, these fingers looked very much alive.

Tressa almost didn't hear the raspy voice.

It was so muffled and distorted; everything about it was intelligible.   
The only thing she could make out was the urgency, or perhaps, the desperation.

The lively fingers seemed to be frantically trying to pry open the doors, but to no prevail.

Tressa began stomping towards the sarcophagus.  
She had had enough of these foreboding sleeps.  
If these dreams were of some message, she was going to fling the doors open and pry the words from Mother’s mouth directly.

She felt like the voice was becoming clearer as she neared, but before she could make out anything, the lively hands burst open the sarcophagus.

Tressa reflexively halted and brought up her hands to cast, but quickly lowered them when she saw this lively woman entangled in the tight grasp of the Night Mother.

A stiff arm was locked across, trapping her in place, and a gnarled hand was clasped forcefully over her obscured face.

The restrained woman vainly tried to speak, but she was muffled by the decrepit hand stretched over her face, and the Night Mother's voice rang clear.

“Bring. Her. To. Me.” is all she said before the Listener could feel herself being pulled into the waking world.

Tressa's vision soon focused through her mask's lens onto Cicero, who had a grip on the chin of her mask, and she could feel his other hand on the latches on the back of her head under her hood.

He was about to remove her mask, but Tressa finally came around enough to grab the wrist of his hand on her chin.

Cicero halted undoing the latches and instead leaned closer in, as if he was trying to see through her dark lenses.

“Listener? You're alright?” he asked, “Are you okay?”

She could feel an ache pounding towards the back of her head and realized she was lain on the ground, somewhat on Cicero's lap as he examined her, and Kor was leaning over her from her other side as well.

They were all tucked inside a small hillside concave, out of the storm.

“Listener? Can you speak to Cicero?” the jester prodded for a vocal response.

Kor added in with a worried expression on his brows, “Do you even know who Cicero is now?”

“W-what?” Tressa finally spoke with a bit of confusion, but then finally realized what had happened, “….I fell off the damn horse, didn't I?”

“Quite a tumble, yes,” Cicero replied, “We thought you cracked your skull. You were out longer than when that Centurion thumped your cranium, so Cicero was about to try and push your brain back in.”

Tressa sat herself up, scooted away just a tad, and backhanded Cicero on his chest.

“You said you wouldn't let me fall!” she snipped.

“I’m sorry, my Listener,” he nodded, “Cicero failed you most terribly.”

“Yes. You did,” the Listener huffed and put a hand to the back of her sore head.

She cast a healing spell, feeling the ache lessen and could practically envision the bruise disappearing. 

She also put her hand back to Cicero's chest and casted a heal upon him, remembering she hadn't levitated his battered state yet.

“Thank you, my Listener,” he said as he took in a deep breath to fill his renewed lungs, “…But perhaps you should let me suffer for breaking my promise and all.”

“Eh, stop with the dramatics,” Tressa replied.

Kor spoke up again.  
“At least he's not crying,” he teased to which Tressa turned her masked stare at him.

“I'm sorry?” she said, “Who are you?”

Kor gave a knowing frown, but Tressa kept up her feigned memory loss.

“Corn, right?” she asked.

“Nope,” Kor replied, “I’m Turnip.”

“Nah, you look more like a kumquat,” the girl stated.

Kor gave a curious wiggle of his brow and replied with that naughty smile, “A…what now?”

Tressa shook her head, “Oh. Yeah. The memory is back. You're nasty is who you are."

They remained inside the concave of the hill, waiting for the storm to pass so they could carry on their travel.

Kor was keeping up the idle chatter as he once again teased their Listener over her reaction to Cicero's apparent death earlier that day.

Tressa responded with an unbothered attitude.

“I wasn't crying,” she said, “….I was ALMOST crying.”

Kor laughed and elbowed at the jester.

“She likes you,” the Nord said.

Tressa made a noise under her mask and responded, “Of course I like him. He's my friend. My best one, probably.”

Cicero gave an awe at that and looked genuinely touched, but Kor suggested it further than that.

“Oh, no, I mean you LIKE him, huh?” he asked.

Tressa cocked her head.

“What are you? Seven? And, ew, no,” the girl shot it down, that manner of which sounding a bit childish itself, “He's old.”

Cicero's smile dropped quickly.

“Was the ‘ew' necessary, my Listener?” he asked.

Tressa snickered a bit and replied, “Yes, ew. We've covered that your old enough to have sired me and I've had enough creepy old men trying to purchase their interest in me to sour MY interest in being a grave robber.”

“Heeeey! Gods!” Cicero held his hands up as if being physically attacked, “Why don't you just toss Cicero back in the river! …I certainly couldn't get any wrinkly-er in the water with my old--and rotting-- age!”

Kor was nearly belly laughing at it all, but Tressa looked to him and decided to flip her compliment-turned-insult of her jester companion back into a compliment.

“But he is my best friend,” she explained, “In fact, I think he was the first real friend I've ever had.”

Cicero gave a face of pity hearing that.

“Oh, that's sad,” he commented.

“But it's true,” Tressa replied, “The closest people I ever had to friends- before befriending you-ALL betrayed me. Every single one of them, even up to Astrid…..But you? Ever since taking me under your wing in Astrid's days, you've never steered me wrong.” 

“Oh come on now, Listener,” Cicero smiled and waved dismissively at her, “I was just glad SOMEONE was willing to listen to a rambling fool.”

“Festus was on your side,” Tressa reminded.

“Eh, yeah, but he minced words as well as Weylen does…except…He was a bit more unnecessarily harsh…Agreeable at range.”

“Yes, but,” Tressa added, “He was far more versed and agreeable in what the real Brotherhood was than I was. You could have viewed me as lost as Astrid, because I was all over the place back then, but you didn't. You didn't have to shepherd a lost lamb into the flock. And when I became Listener…. I know it got under your skin. My eyes aren't carrot fed, but did I ever see the devastation. YOU felt betrayed. By me? By Mother? I'm not sure. I won't pry out old feelings. You did look at me differently for a short time, but you still didn't turn against me. Friends previous have turned against me for far less as a slaver spending more gold to purchase me....That day I had MY meltdown? Remember? Before you had yours and got a little stabby with Veezara? You mended me out of it even though you could have fueled that reason for me NOT to be the Listener. The day I spared your life? I know you weren't gravely injured. I'VE pulled that trick plenty. And when I turned away to leave, you had the perfect opportunity to strike a fatal blow. Literally stab me in the back... You didn't. Maybe you couldn't and still can't only for the sake of the Brotherhood, ....but either way, whatever the reason or reasons, you've never betrayed me. In fact, it seems you're always looking out for me. At least, I want to believe that.” 

The jester listened and looked to be finding a response, or at the very least do that patronizing head pat, but then she had to quip in: "EXCEPT WHEN YOU LET ME FALL OFF THE HORSE!"  
The clown rolled his eyes in exasperation. 

"Cicero was blinded by the flash of lightening, my Listener!" he defended to which Tressa flipped him the bird and snipped at him.

"And your old, rickety bones slowed you on the catch too, huh?" she added.

"Come off it, would you? Cicero. isn't. THAT. OLD," he responded.

"So very old," Tressa dug in and Cicero gritted his teeth.

"Urgh!" he growled, "Cicero should have took your mask so he could pop you on the mouth right now."

The girl pointed at him and remarked, "Ah, see? That's indeed something an old person would say!"

"And I see why you figure a JESTER to be your best friend," he quipped back, "Clowns ARE rather entertaining for CHILDREN!"

Kor was laughing at it all again and Cicero turned on him.

"Ah, another child amused?" he said.

"I am amused!" Kor agreed, "This little trip with you two certainly has me seeing a couple soulless monsters so close-knit and good humored."

"By Sithis, Kor," Tressa replied, "Just how new are you? You live in the same Sanctuary as us. You just now seeing our loving little, blood drenched family? Is it that blindingly dark in Aphid's shadow?"

Kor's grin wavered a moment but then he shrugged at the response.

"Eh, a little bit, I guess," he said, "....I thought you all were faking it. You know, to not kill each other instead of the contracts?"

Cicero knocked him a little with his elbow and imitated the eyebrow wiggle of his.

"You would have experience seeing someone fake it, eh?" he said.

Despite the jab at him, the Nord laughed and swung his arm around the fool.

"We'll let you be the judge of that, my dear bride," he said. 

Cicero played right along with it. 

“You better be providing a spectacular honeymoon dinner,” he said, “Or you're getting nowhere tonight.”

They all continued to joke and jab at each other until the storm had cleared away. 

The tail end of a drizzle remained, but was steadily dissipating, as the sun had started to peek upon the wet terrain. 

The group commenced travel once again, finding themselves just outside of Karthwasten a few hours later. 

Tressa grumbled a tad as they reached a fork in the road that split upways towards the mining town of Karthwasten and downwards to a riverside path that would lead towards their destination, and Markarth further on. 

“I misjudged how far Pavo's is,” the Listener griped to herself. 

Kor brought Snowberry up towards Shadowmere's front. 

“Just how much farther is it?” he asked, “Do we need to settle in Karthwasten?” 

“No,” Tressa replied, “Pavo's home is at Kolskegger mine, which is….I THINK…about maybe another hour from here. Karthwasten doesn't even have a inn….Just WASTEN our time.” 

Cicero erupted with laughter behind her. 

“HA HAHAHAHA!” he roared, “Oh, Listener! Why didn't Cicero think of that!?!” 

“Your brain's bogged, remember?” she said. 

Cicero tapped the back of her cranium and responded, “Yes, but, yours has been shaken like a dried up nut trapped in a hallow shell…but look at the wit!” 

“Uh….Thanks?”

Continuing on down the riverside route, just over an hour later, they finally saw Pavo's home coming into view.

But Tressa and Cicero definitely noticed something different. 

The last time they had trekked through, there were Forsworn swarmed about it. 

This time, it was again swarmed by clearly battle ready persons, but they were not Forsworn. 

Tressa was about to slow her horse to a stop and contemplate if fighting through was necessary, but she caught glimpses of miners moving about the mine entrance above the home on the rockside. 

They didn't look distressed and she saw casual head nods between the miners and the others. 

“Think Pavo hired some guard against any further Forsworn attackers?” Tressa asked Cicero. 

“Probably,” the jester replied.

Tressa rode them in closer. They were watched intently, but the weaponized lot on standby didn't appear interested in hostility or robbery. 

They only kept their eyes on the trio, clearly making sure they were traveling towards the river crossing in front of Pavo's home that leads to Markarth. 

Once in front of Pavo's home however, Tressa finally addressed the nearest person.

“Can Pavo come out and play?” she asked. 

The nearest person and the nearest to him sized the trio up, looking them over for dangerous cues. 

“Who's asking?” the person said with a tone of distrust. 

“Tressa, the savior of the mine,” Tressa replied frankly. Cicero tapped her with an “ahem". 

“And Cicero, the stabbiest of the mine,” the girl added. 

The person gave them a strange look but turned towards the door of the house and gave it a knock. 

A muffled voice invited the person to crack the door open and state their business to which they did so, alerting the man inside of the people outside. 

They heard quick footsteps and the door flung open to reveal Pavo with a broad smile upon his face. 

“Well hello!” he greeted, “What brings you back here, my friends? Heading to Markarth or visiting this gruddy, but grateful miner?”

“Both!” Cicero answered.

“Well come on in then!” Pavo motioned for them to step inside his abode, giving a nod to the armed people nearby. 

The trio dismounted and followed Pavo inside his home. 

Tressa and Cicero immediately noticed the changes once inside, with his upper level having been renovated into a much more cozy space. 

It was no longer a storage room and held the confides of a decent kitchen station and a small, but relaxed, reading lounge. His bedding area must still reside below the upper floor. 

Pavo noticed Tressa and Cicero taking note the change and smiled. 

“Nice little renovation, right?” he said, “All thanks to you two. Saved my mine up there to continue our work and we struck gold. Literally and lots of it. You should see my other house…. And we're still striking up ore after ore! Thank goodness for no financial worries or I might not have the money to pay all those sell-swords to keep not only the Forsworn at bay, but the ore thieves!...GAT! Come up! Look who's here!” 

The orc, Gat, had already been walking up the steps from the lower floor to see the cause of conversation above. 

“Friends! Hello!” he greeted as warmly as Pavo had, “So good to see you two! Like feeling that first big payout all over again….I could just toss a bag of coin at you. In fact…”

The orc did indeed undo a satchel upon his belt and toss it towards Tressa. She caught it and felt the shape and weight of numerous coin within it. 

She laughed and remarked, “This is definitely my favourite thing that's been thrown at us today….”.

Pavo and Gat gave a small laugh, but then Pavo's attention turned to Kor. 

“Oh! I'm sorry. We're being very rude to your friend here,” he said, “Hello!”

“Hi,” Kor replied, “Name's Kor.”

“Corn?” Gato misheard. 

Kor was about to restate his name when Tressa quickly tossed a hand up to halt him. 

“Oh by gods, yes,” she laughed as Kor rolled his eyes; albiet, with a smile. 

“No, Turnip. Turnip. Remember, rockhead?” he responded and the girl stopped laughing and turned towards him.

“Oh, ha ha. There's still plenty of time for you to sustain a serious injury on this quest,” Tressa replied and began hopping up, trying to playfully knock his head with the coin bag she still held, but her short stature made it nearly impossible as was his dipping back upon each swing. 

Pavo and Gat looked on with blank smiles, not knowing what all this was about but not wanting to rudely interrupt it. 

Tressa quickly gave up and gave the Nord's gut a light punch instead and turned her attentions back to Pavo. 

“We are on our way to Markarth,” she said to him, “But we've got some bumps and bangs to tend to and Cicero here needs a proper rest tonight, so if I may boldly ask, can we stay a night in your cozy abode?”

“Well, of course!” Pavo answered with no issue at all, “In fact, you lot can have the whole cabin to yourselves. Gat and I will be mining a new channel and we're prepared to work the mine all night. And, don't be shy to help yourselves to any food, drink, or…anything really. We owe you more than that bag of coin, that's for sure.”

“Thank you!” Tressa politely thanked his graciousness. 

After a bit of a casual conversation between them, Pavo and Gat left out to check on their workers inside the mine and to leave the trio to unwind and tend to themselves.

“Cicero,” Tressa tapped him on the arm, noticing the exhaustion was clouding over him again. 

“Hmm?” he responded and livened up just a bit, “Yes, my Listener?”

“Go relax in that hot pond, buddy,” the Listener resoonded, “Change clothes. I'll set up your suit to dry when you get back. Take Kor with you, though. Keep your head above water should you konk out…Plus, he could probably use a bath…” 

Kor narrowed his eyes in her direction, but otherwise said nothing. 

Cicero poked back at her arm as she had done him.

“What about you, my Listener?” he said, “Ladies, or Listeners, first.”

“I'm fine,” she replied, “I’ll change when you two leave. I took a bath two days ago. Staying wrapped up keeps me rather fresh.”

“As fresh as mummified remains?” the jester joked, but Tressa put her hands firmly to her hips.

“What are you trying to say, huh?” she asked with no amusement in her tone. 

“Nothing,” Cicero answered quickly, “I'm tired, Listener. Cicero's jokes are dried up…”

“Uh huh…”

“As much as mummified remains,” he tried to pull it all together, but Tressa just shook her head and pushed him towards the door. 

“Go. Go relax,” she said, “…You too, Kor. Enjoy locking lips again should he slip back under water…”

Kor only made kissy noises as he followed out behind the jester.

Cicero led them to the pond, as he knew where it was up the road.  
Hidden within a small crater, it had ample privacy behind a natural rock wall. 

The sulfuric aroma was not overpowering, and in fact, lavender had been planted amongst the surrounding banks to add an even more relaxed atmosphere to the hot pool. 

And despite it most likely being used as a regular bathing station for the nearby miners, it looked rather clean and most certainly inviting. 

The two men certainly had no qualms relinquishing their attire and setting themselves comfortably within the edges of the pool. 

Kor had cracked a couple “bathing with his bride" zingers of course, but still sat himself a comfortable distance away from the other man. 

He did keep his eyes on him, though.

It was odd how funny the funny man looked without his funny suit on. 

Or really, how normal. 

Cicero's tired expression seemed to contribute to this normalization as well, as it gave no indication of the strange ramblings that fumbled from his mouth time to time. 

The usually jester suit clad man started to sink down a bit, to which Kor thought he might need to call attention to, but Cicero quickly perked up and suddenly turned around.

He stood a bit and was reaching for that signature suit behind him on the bank, murmuring something about scrubbing it, but something upon his exposed back caught Kor's attention. 

“Are you part Khajiit?” the Nord asked.

Cicero paused a moment and looked over his shoulder with a bewildered stare. 

“What?” he asked, the confusion clear on his tongue, “…Have I grown a tail?”

Kor motioned a finger up and down, meaning it to point out Cicero's back. 

“You're rather striped,” he commented, “…Don't think I've seen so many lines since a Nord mead tasting festival..”

“Hm?” Cicero still seemed a bit confused until it dawned on him what the Nord was pointing out upon his back, “Ooh. Cicero’s scars.”

He sank back down in the water and began scrubbing at his suit while continuing the conversation with Kor. 

“Lots of bad deeds have been torn from my back, yes,” he said, “Cicero doesn't hold the perfect escape record, no. Nope. Nope, nope, nope….But escapes from death I am undefeated hahaha…Ah...Most of those scars, though, are from….”

He paused as if catching himself from saying more than he wanted to, but then he just went ahead and said it. 

“My father.”

“Aah,” Kor replied, “So there's more than a lost little puppy, huh? I knew there was more to laugh back at the world for.”

Cicero looked at him as if trying to decipher a foreign language, but Kor's glance at the jester suit gave answer.

“Ah, no. Hahaha, no,” Cicero explained, holding part of the suit up for emphasis, “THIS is unrelated…..”

“Do tell?” Kor insisted, “…We are baring it all out here, right?”

“Let your bride hold on to some of herself,” Cicero replied and gave a little splash of water in the Nord's direction. 

Kor seemed to catch notice of something upon the bend of Cicero's arm then.

“What's that mark?” he asked, “A burn scar?”

Cicero glanced at his arm and pulled back. 

“Why are you studying Cicero so? Very much so,” he questioned back, “….We are jesting about this bride business, no?” 

“Just making conversation to keep you awake?” Kor shrugged. 

“Hmph,” Cicero humphed at it but then did answer his question, “It's not a scar. It's a birthmark. What's the freckles and moles all over you then, huh?” 

“Freckles and moles,” Kor answered plainly, “I have a birthmark too, though.”

Cicero smirked with a slight roll of his eyes. 

“Oh, let me guess,” he said, “It's some place intimate, isn't it?”

“It actually is,” Kor replied to which Cicero shook his head. 

“No really,” Kor insisted, “I'm not lying. I really do and it really is…..I ain't having my bluff called again, you know.”

“Uh huh,” Cicero replied with disinterest and focused on scrubbing his suit. 

The Nord huffed and hopped up and brazenly showed himself.

Cicero did not bother looking and merely commented, “What a small birthmark it is.”

Kor sank back into the water with a toss of his head. 

“Clever,” he said sarcastically. 

“Yes, well, Cicero is tired. And I've used all my better responses on someone like you long ago.”

The Nord perked up again. 

“Oh? There's more? Dog, dad, and....?”

Cicero stared at him as he continued to scrub his suit. He soon gave a smirk and replied, “Degeneracy?”

“Debauchery?” Kor added back. 

“Depravity?” Cicero added another. 

Kor started upon another ‘d’ word, but seemed stumped in his findings. 

Cicero popped in another. 

“Deviancy?” he said.

“Alright, okay,” Kor forfeited, “If I could think of a word for ‘educated’ that starts with a ‘d', you are that. You clearly owned a ‘D’ictionary…HA.”

“Thesaurus?” Cicero corrected.

“What? That's not a ‘d’?” Kor replied.

“Do you know what a thesaurus is?” the Imperial asked, not snidely but curiously and looked over to the Nord when there was a brief pause. 

Kor had a slight air of confusion on his expression before just answering, “D’uh!”

Cicero cracked into a chuckle at that and continued the cleaning of his suit. 

Kor decided to follow up on conversation .

“So are the scars because your father was bad or you're bad?” he asked rather bluntly. 

“You're asking a cutthroat who was the bad guy?” 

Kor shrugged.

“Fair point,” the Nord replied, “But I like to think Aphid and I aren't all that bad, morally speaking. And Tsuni's practically a saint.”

Cicero laughed a bit. 

“Morality REALLY isn't your strong suit,” the Imperial said, “Where does all our coin come from, Kor, hmm?”

“Mother's allowance?” the Nord smirked back and earned another laugh from Cicero. 

Kor was laughing with him and then seemed to think upon something for a moment. 

“I like to think, ” he finally said, “That good people can do terrible things, especially for the sake of those care about….But that means that terrible people can do good things too, right?...I'm not as black and white as Aphid.”

Cicero had stopped scrubbing his suit and cast an arched brow towards the Nord.

“..’D’ichotomy?” he said with a chuckle. 

Kor clearly did not know the word. 

“…’D'on't know what that means,” he admitted, “…Just a ‘D'umb Nord, remember?”

“How about ambivalent?” Cicero asked and Kor sighed.

“…That's not a ‘d' again! I don't like this game anymore,” he said, “….I see your father educated you just as good as he beat you.”

The Nord's face fell a slight as soon as he said that, realizing that what he just said could have hit a raw nerve, but Cicero only paused a moment before replying:

“He was rather ‘D'emanding with that ‘D'iscipline.”

They laughed but Kor wrapped it up. 

“Alright, we're ‘D'one with this game,” he grinned, “You've won. Quit beating the ‘D'ead horse!”

“Well, ‘D'amn,” Cicero played upset, “But I have such a heavy ‘D'ose to ‘D'acker you with. Perhaps our next challenge be communicating via ‘D’actylology?”

“Stooooop.”

Cicero took the win and let the game ‘d’ie, but other jokes and chatter continued to flow between the two as they did their respective bathing and relaxed a bit before getting ready to head back to Pavo's cabin. 

In their chatter, Kor had shared upon some of his self too and memories of his own father before being orphaned by a bandit attack.

He and his father had bore a strong resemblance to each other, with the same nose, blond hair, and blue eyes and he remembered the parental warmth of a loving father. His father was a much gentler patriarch it seemed in comparison to Cicero's. 

But he had never known his mother as she had died during childbirth. The closest he had ever had to a mother was a woman who had sheltered Aphid and him for a short time after their escape from Grelod. 

Cicero didn't divulge any further on his familial background, but did remark on how sorely missed the presence of a mother can be. 

Their little get-to-know had also revealed mutual likes and even some interests, certainly cementing that they weren't lost on forming a genuine comradery. 

If even Nazir and Cicero could move just a bit pass tolerance of each other, then this was going quite swell on their future as guild mates and Dark Siblings. 

Tressa was sure to be proud of their progress and it was time to head back to her. 

The two men dried themselves and readied to venture back.

Cicero had redressed into the spare Dark Brother armor he had mentioned before. Kor simply put the slightly damp attire he had been wearing back on. 

“By gods, you look too normal,” the Nord mentioned to Cicero, “…I think I've been looking at you like a jester is some sort of odd, maniacal creature and that's all you were.” 

“Oh, Cicero is still an odd, maniacal creature,” the clownless clown smiled, “Don't let this boring attire fool you…Or unfool me?”

“Is this the lack of sleep trying to joke or the boring attire?” Kor poked fun.

“….Let us away to Pavo's,” Cicero glided over the answer, “…I bet we will catch our Listener scooping all the carrots out of the stew pot."


	12. Cut Short

Chapter 12: Cut Short

Cicero and Kor returned to Pavo's cabin to see Tressa had kindly set the table with bowls of stew from the stew pot.

She was not present herself, but they quickly heard her voice from the lower floor. Probably where she was eating her dinner out of sight.

“That you, guys?” she called out.

Kor smirked and was about to sarcastically reply a no, but Cicero suddenly took the joke for himself and went even further.

“All your guard are dead out there!” the unjestered jester called back, his voice eerily steady and firm. A drastic difference from his usual playfully pitchy and musical tones. Even one who knew him would have a tough moment recognizing his voice.   
“Come out! Hands up!”

Tressa did not reply, nor did they hear movement. 

Kor was about to comment on Cicero's joke, but he noticed the man suddenly get a dawning expression and give the floor beneath him a startled look before jumping aside, as if expecting the very floor to attack him. 

“Uh huh! Yeah!” they heard Tressa finally speak. She had silently moved to the stairs and was barely peeking at them from floors edge, “Didn't think about me blasting a nasty surprise right through the floor, did you? Ha! You're lucky I banked on it probably being you!”

Cicero gave a mopey sigh, but his playful tone returned. 

“Drat. But I scared ya for a moment, right?” he asked. 

“A couple of moments, “Tressa replied as she now came fully up the steps, “I nearly forgot about you not being jestered, so I aaaalmost blasted you down anyway when I peeped out from the steps.” 

Cicero laughed and reminded, “You've seen Cicero not be Cicero before. Like the time you had me disguise as an Imperial soldier to escort you as prisoner to get to an already imprisoned target.”

“Yeah,” Tressa nodded, “But it's just…you look too serious without that jester suit on. Like. All cutty no jokey. I don't like it.” 

Cicero pulled his face into a serious expression at that and just stared at her. 

“Stop it,” Tressa pointed at him but he, of course, held his composure. 

“Stop,” she ordered again and stepped closer to the table, “Sit down. Eat.” 

Cicero folded his arms, still holding the expression as he and Kor walked towards that table.

“So demanding,” the Imperial said as he neared her, “So serious.”

“As a constipated Orc,” the Listener folded her arms in mocking of his. 

“Oh?” Kor spoke up as he and Cicero sat at the table, “Are you an Orc?” 

Tressa shrugged, “ Perhaps?” 

“Are you constipated?” Cicero added, his voice in that serious tone but a small smirk on his lips. 

“Ew! Eat!” Tressa ordered once more, making the two men snicker.

Kor bit back some of the snickering to remark, “Quick to temper. Gotta be an Orc.” 

Cicero once again, “Or it’s the irritable bowels.”

“By Gods, gross. Enough,” Tressa huffed but then slapped them both on their shoulders, “But look at you two! Irritating your Listener—together! So proud!”

The two men gave her broad, exaggerated smiles as Kor reached up and patted the top of her head, being tall enough to do so while seated.

“Anything for you, my Listener,” he said .   
She swatted his arm and jumped back. 

“No, no. Nooo. Do. Not,” she hissed as her masked face shot back and forth between them, “Sithis’ sake, what did I do? Do not start picking up each others habits. EAT.”

She made a move that suggested she was going to slap them both.

Kor held up an arm defensively but grinned. 

“Okay, okay…Mum,” he said smartly. 

The turn of her head suggested she was rolling her eyes and then turned fully away to head back down the stairs.

“Oi, mum,” Cicero caught her attention, “Don’t forget to dry my clothes.” 

“Oh,” she replied, brushing off the poking fun they were doing to her, “So where is the collar of our rabid merry man?”

Cicero sat a glare on her.

She met it back with a silent stare before remarking, “…I'm really not sure if you're scarier in or out of your jester suit.” 

When he stood up, still holding the glare to her, she stepped back a little towards the stairs. 

“Out, I think,” she said. 

When he started advancing towards her, she quickly hopped a few steps down.

“Out. Definitely out,” she nervously remarked and asked, “Are you joking or coming to bite me?...Cicero?” 

Tressa was about to fully retreat down the stairs when the serious man suddenly rushed and hopped over the rail, landing the steps before her and cutting her off. 

She fell back with a yelp which finally erupted laughter from the unjestered jester. 

“Ha-hahaha! Oh, my Listener,” Cicero cackled and slapped the wall next to him, “I bet your face was all like, EH! Ah, Cicero wishes he could have seen it. Hahaha!” 

Tressa let out a low growl from where she had plopped back onto the steps and could hear Kor slapping the table in a bit of laughter himself, which only made her sigh even further. 

“Aaaw, don't be all cutty no jokey,” Cicero consoled her with his patronizing head pat. 

“Gonna be all zappy, no jokey,” Tressa grumbled as she swatted away his hand but accepted his offer to help her up. 

She; however, attempted to shove him after she stood. He hardly budged as he had braced a foot on the step below him. It was clear he had expected it. 

He laughed and said, “Even under all that shroud, Cicero continues to read you like a novice book.”

His giddy expression; however, had immediately fallen into realization that he once again could be treading upon her reading skills.

Tressa snorted at him. 

“Ha ha, yeah,” she said as she turned away and back up to the upper floor, “Soak in the guilt. Drown in it.” 

Tressa saw Kor clearly wanting to say something as he held in a laugh and blew it out his nose. 

“What?” the girl questioned with demand.

“I'll let you cry on my shoulder when he does,” he teased. 

She tried not to respond to them now, so as to not give them any ammo to continue teasing her.  
Instead, she stomped loudly as she obtained Cicero's jester suit and brought it back to the fireplace to hang and dry. 

She draped it on a hang line and tossed more wood in the fireplace before casting more flames upon the wood with a spell. 

The two men had began to eat now, but Kor decided to make more conversation as they did. 

“Do you know how to make a fire?” he asked, directing the question at Tressa, “And not just set things on fire with a wave of your hand?” 

She swung her head his way with a slight tilt.

“Of course I know,” Tressa replied, almost offended by the sound of it, “In my enslavement, don’t you think I was made to make cooking fires, camp fires, and cozy little fireplaces alike?” 

“Without magicka?” the Nord questioned again, emphasizing that she didn't answer.

“Yes, without magicka,” she answered, “Because I didn't know of my magical abilities until my last enslave—”

She suddenly paused.

“Actually,” she then spoke again, “….I knew. I was just….a match soaked wet in fear so as not to light.”

“What?” Kor said with slight confusion.

“I was too scared to fight back,” Tressa clarified, “The first master I remember having was some socialite in Cyrodiil. Bought me from a shady orphanage as a playmate for his daughter. Funny enough, we were really kind of like sisters at first, even if she was far more spoiled and very bratty. Things were okay though, until the day I unwittingly scorched her hair…I really didn't mean to, seeing as I had no idea I could do it. She kept being so huffy about my braiding job and kept making me do it over and over and over until I got so huffy myself….and… poof. There went all the braids…..She was fine, only a hair job as patchy as a poor man's quilt….. But her father beat me so fiercely for it. So fiercely… I had never seen him lay a hand to his daughter, no matter what awful things she intentionally done, but he sure did unleash every hit I imagine he had kept from her on me.….They all treated me awful after that. I'd say I was grateful to be eventually resold, but....That slope was a straight plummet down. To think, though, I could have been free a lot sooner if I hadn't been afraid to set more heads alight, hahaha. But, eh, I was around five? Fear is a clingy thing to children.”

Despite her laughing it off, she noticed the two others looking at her a bit sympathetically. Cicero more so dissolving into an expression of guilt as he didn’t seem able to look at her directly. 

“Oh, come on,” Tressa waved a hand, “That was hardly a sob story. And kind of funny the whole thing. You know. More burny-burny, less slavey-slavey.” 

She took notice of Cicero’s increasingly uncomfortable demeanor. 

“And why do you look so guilty, like you're the one who beat me?” 

“I was,” he replied. 

She and Kor both bewilderedly shot back in unison.

“What?!” 

Kor had even dramatically dropped his spoon into his bowl. 

Cicero quickly shook his hands and head, realizing their thought. 

“Oh, no, not then,” he said, “That wasn't me.”

He looked at Tressa and tapped his palm while glancing remorsefully towards her hand. 

“But Cicero did beat you,” he said, “Over an untended use of a spell too, to boot. Ooh no. No no no. Cicero is no better than your past tormentors. No better than my own. I am sorry, my Listener. I am so sorry--" 

“Eh! Eh!” Tressa waved her hands firmly, “Don’t…..Wait, so not just a lost dog, eh?”

“What?” 

“You said no better than your own,” Tressa repeated his words, “…What’s under that cap, Cicerooo? Do you need a hug?” 

Kor almost smiled as he looked to Tressa with a bit of eagerness. He had knowledge of the man that she did not. 

“His father beat him,” the Nord said unable to withhold, “Have you seen his back? He has more stripes than any Khajiit.”

“Huh? Wait. What?” Tressa replied, “Wait just a…I wanted you two to get along, yes, but you went and got so close that you're telling him things you've never told me….Your best friend?” 

Cicero had been holding an unamused stare at Kor, probably a little irked he took liberty to talk of his past, but then shot his gaze at Tressa with the beginnings of a smirk. 

“You said I was YOUR bestfriend,” he said, “Cicero never said you were his.”

Tressa put a hand to her heart. 

“Ow,” she said blandly, “I dare say that stung more than the first beating I ever got…”

“Mhm,” the unjestered jester tiredly replied.

“More than when you beat me.”

Cicero put an elbow to the table and rested his face in his palm as he made a regrettable sigh.

“I am sorry, Tressa,” he responded not lifting his head, “Cicero sometimes has a temper, I know. I didn't use to. Cicero was utmost patient and stable and a good…person…., believe me or not. Suppose it's gotten worse with time, of all the years of jabs and jabs.”

“Lots of time, mhmm,” Tressa nodded.

“….And jabs…,” the Imperial man noted her insult.

He kept his head down, but had moved his hand from his face to gently squeeze the sides of his forehead, appearing to be having a headache. 

He hadn't even noticed Tressa take a seat beside him until she placed a hand on his shoulder. 

He almost startled and looked over to her in question.

Her masked head gave a small tilt before she made an offer.

“Need a hug?” she asked with a hint of sarcasm.

The Imperial man bobbed her hand off his shoulder.

“Cicero is just fine,” he said, “…I lost a dog and my father beat me. Typical Tamriel life.” 

“Awww,” Tressa sarcastically cooed in jest, “You had a father, though.” 

Kor added in, “Well, that’s not typical at all. Not to us ORPHANS.” 

Cicero rolled his eyes, “Ah, right. Sorry. Privileged….He is dead now though, so may Cicero sit among you fatherless?” 

“I don’t know,” Tressa folded her arms, “You got the luxury of knowing yours, after all…. And OF COURSE he’s dead. He’d have to be ancient or elf otherwise.” 

Kor started snickering wildly while Cicero looked at them greatly unamused. 

“Cicero spared you the bite for calling me rabid once more,” he said to Tressa and then warned, “….But call me ol---Oh, no.”

“What?” Tressa asked of his sudden change. 

Cicero gasped and had a look of worry. 

“So grumpy....,” he almost whimpered, “Cicero IS getting old!....Am I becoming Weylen?!”

Tressa laughed a little.

“No, buddy,” she assured, “You're just tired. Eat and go to bed already….”

She patted his shoulder and went back to focusing on Cicero's suit as the two men ate their dinner. 

She paid particularly more attention to Cicero's jester cap, carefully gliding her hands around and beneath it as bewitched flames hovered in her palms. 

Her companion eyed her with ever so slight anxiety as she gracefully danced the dangerous heat around his hat. 

By the time the men finished their meal, she had successfully dried the jester's cap and tossed it to him.

“Here,” she said and pointed to the steps leading below, “Now go to bed.”

Kor gave the hat a funny look now.

“What is it, your teddy too?” he asked. 

Tressa answered him, “No, he is a tough one to go to sleep even when he's not trying to stay awake. I know he's actually trying when he pushes that hat over his eyes. A little sleep habit I've noticed of his...”

“Oh? What if Cicero keeps thinking himself awake under the cap, hmm, Listener?” Cicero snarked. 

“As tired as you are….Good luck,” the Listener replied, “Try it though and I'll hold the hat over your airways until you black out….Go. To. Sleep.” 

“Yes, okay, my Listener,” the man half yawned, “Nighty night.”

“Night,” Tressa waved as he passed her and began descending the stairs. 

Kor called out to him, “Night, love!” and the Imperial daintily waved back as he disappeared below. 

After a minute or so, Tressa sat down at the table in front of Kor who had refilled his stew bowl for another helping.

In a quiet tone, Tressa asked “Want to keep playing the ‘Guess What I am’ game?” 

“Why though?” Kor responded, a smile hinting at the corners of his mouth, “You're just gonna shrug at anything I say…”

“Your reasonings are funny,” the girl replied, “Also, shush. Cicero's got ears like a Falmer…..Don't give up. You said you were going to guess it.”

The Nord sat his spoon down and straightened up in his chair. A brow inched up as he gave Tressa a curious look. 

But instead of giving a guess, he said with a quiet tone: “Are you flirting with me?” 

Tressa quickly straighten herself as well.

“What?” she replied, almost too loudly, “No. How'd you get that from this?” 

Kor bit his cheek to keep from laughing but also pushed the joke quite farther. 

“You are asking me to picture what's under those clothes,” he said. 

“My face, Kor,” she replied. 

“Disfigured,” the Nord answered. 

“It's not. I told you that,” Tressa reminded. 

“Pretty,” Kor tried again.

“Now you're flirting with me,” she said. 

“Bound to happen, Rockhead, you're female,” he replied. 

Tressa simply sat her elbows on the table, linked her fingers and rested her chin atop them. 

Kor narrowed his eyes a bit, studying her for a moment before speaking again..

“You're…,” he began, “…An Imperial. Dark Elf. Wood Elf. Redguard. High Elf. Orc. Ogre. Khajiit. Argonian. Breton. Troll. Nord.”

Tressa sat still for just a moment before shrugging. 

“Definitely one of those, yes,” she said.

“Ah, I knew it. Told you I'd guess it,” Kor nodded.

He then seemed to look a little more serious. 

“You are….distrusting of me,” he then remarked, instead of a guess.

Tressa tilted her head a moment before replying.

“Well, that was the point of bringing you along,” she answered, “To build trust with you, lazy shadow. And I will say, you've showed a lot in a little time.”

“Was that a joke about my almost nudity at the shack?” 

“No, but now yes,” the girl replied with a quiet laugh on her tongue.

“What if I was an infiltrator?” Kor suddenly darkened and attempted to stare at her with malice, “An infiltrator on Sybil's behalf. Gathering information. Waiting to strike.”

“Then I suppose you had plenty of opportunity already,” Tressa shrugged,”…Cicero’s drowning…my lack of magicka after draining it on my zaps….You're the one who pulled him out and went the extra touch to save him. Why didn't you attack me while I was drained and let him drown, Mr. Infiltrator?” 

Kor exaggerated a dumbfounded expression.

“Blunder, oops,” he said with a careless shrug. 

“You could have at least finished off his drowning at the pond…”

“Nah, he'd have gut me with some dagger he concealed Gods’ know where while I tried to hold him under….,” the Nord shook his head. He then gave Tressa a maliciously sly look.

“….But right now,” he said low and menacing,”…You're in my arms reach. I could crush your neck in a quick snap and his too while he sleeps….”

Tressa gave a small exhale of a scoff.

“Except you kinda just blew the plan, so….I'd zap you dead and Cicero would pin cushion your body for good measure.”

“It takes you a moment to charge up that zap attack, though, so….,” the Nord smirked and began to quickly reach across the table. 

Tressa didn't budge though, not even startle. 

Kor paused, smiled, and plopped back in his chair.

“Aw, yay, you trust me,” he said.

“Actually,” Tressa held a knuckle to where her mouth probably was, “….I…uh…froze a little….kind of didn't think about that…”

“What? About you needing to charge your spell?” Kor questioned, “Seriously? …Oh, Tress, I could have killed you.” 

“Hey, hey,” she replied, “Doubt it. This outfit is more durable than it looks. I'm more capable than I look. And I could zap you a little, burn you a little, spike you a little or just dodge you a lottle until the castrator down there guts you from the sac up. All before I would need to charge the whole firework display anyway.”

“Thanks for that attack on my imagination,” Kor frowned, “Think I'm down for the count from that alone….”

“Psychological torture is the best torture,” Tressa giggled and then got up to check on the drying progress of the rest of Cicero's outfit. 

Suddenly however, she was seized by Kor. 

He tightly wrapped a hold around her torso with one arm, lifting her well off the ground, and held a cutlery knife to her neck. 

She yelped.

A tense pause stilled the very air around them.

But then Tressa chuckled under her breath.

“Kor….there's a thin steel lining in my neck guard for just such occasions,” she explained, “And I could still zap, burn, or spike you…and considering my hands are now pinned at a lower region….”

“Ah, yes…,” the Nord released her, “I'd very much like to keep all three of my legs.”

Tressa turned to face him and remark something about that third leg, but this time something truly did startle her.

She quickly flung her hands up in a halting manner as her attention frantically pulled behind Kor. 

“Cicero! Wait! No!” she panicked, “Don't!”

Kor spun around just in time to see Cicero halt a stab to what would have been a kidney shot. 

“Whoa! Sweet Sithis!” Kor jumped away even more, “It was just a joke! A joke, jester! We were messing around! Look! It's a spread knife, for Gods’ sake!” 

Cicero's deadly glare stayed on him, but he glanced to Tressa for clarification.

She gave him a simmer down motion while nodding. 

“Really, Cicero,” she assured, “Thank you for the save, but we’re just messing around. Sorry to wake you….”

Cicero straightened his stance and gave them a telling look and an arched brow.

“Aaah, this is why you were shuffling me off so,” he said, “Would you two like to go below to finish this ‘fooling around' real quick? Hmm?”

Tressa clenched her fist and pointed at him.

“Messing around!” she snapped.

“Same thing,” the yawning Imperial remarked.

“Except, no, it's not,” Tressa argued, “We were just teasing each other--Damn it. That sounds worse. We were….playing with each--OH, gods, no….Urgh…..Go to back to bed! In fact, I think we all should just get some sleep now.”

Kor pointed with his thumb towards the table. 

“But I'm still hungry….,” he said and Tressa folded her arms about it.

“Well then, eat and go to bed!” she barked, her temper a bit heated now.

Kor stepped back with a defensive stance at her snippy mood. 

“Geesh, okay, Mum…,” he said jokingly but could sense the glare under her lens, “…Boss…..Listener…”

“Hmph,” Tressa huffed and turned away with Cicero to head to the beds below. She did hear Kor grumble that she's definitely an Orc as she awayed. 

An hour passed by and she still laid awake in bed waiting for Kor to finish up above.

He was a bit right. She did actually have a faint worry in the back of her head that anyone who wasn't Cicero would gut her as she slept. 

She did trust Kor, probably more than any other Dark Sibling besides Aphid, but she also just couldn't shake a distrust of him as well.   
She hoped on it being her trauma and not intuition. 

She did realize the strangeness of having complete trust in an unpredictable, maniac jester though.

Regardless of he being the first to truly befriend her, there had always been an unspoken ease being around him. 

It wasn't the jester part, either.   
She didn't really know what it was, but she could feel it through his eyes. 

There was something in there, besides the roaring laughter. Something further back. Even further than what she had managed to read of his own words in his journals. 

Whatever it was, whatever this was that she couldn't see but could feel from him, she felt it ease her. Her thoughts and worries. Her rattled emotions. 

Like a security blanket. Patchworked and sewn with volatility, but beloved and comforting nonetheless. 

She felt safe around the madman. That was certain. 

She looked over at him sound asleep in his bed, cap pulled nearly to the tip of his nose and chest rising and falling in clear indication of a deep slumber. 

Even a whisper of trouble, though, would surely wake him. 

She heard Kor's heavy feet begin descending the stairs quiet as he could, and sure enough, she saw Cicero's deep breathing immediately cease. 

He didn't move or lift his cap, but she knew it woke him. Poor guy. His near death experience at the river was probably the deepest sleep he's had in Gods know how long. 

Tressa stayed still as Kor made his way off the steps. He was carrying his short swords that he had taken off a while ago. 

Tressa watched him but also noticed the faintest of movement from Cicero, probably inching his hand at ready to a concealed dagger. 

He was always on guard for betrayals as she was, but she honestly felt that Kor wasn't going to do anything. If he was; however, it would be now right?

The Nord stopped where he was for a moment, looking to the both of them as he gripped his swords tighter. 

He stepped towards the end of Cicero's bed as silent as his bulky frame would let him.

Tressa began to feel a little cold. Was he not kidding earlier? What was this? Is this it?

Kor’s demeanor hardened and he then made his move. 

To carefully and quietly set down his swords upon the small, upholstered bench at the foot of the bed. 

He then laid down upon the rug in the floor, as there were only the two beds. 

Tressa felt a little bit of relief. 

The lug was only trying to be quiet, his weapons nearby only for the same readiness they all shared. 

She knew he was only trying to tease her up there, after all.

Probably a true clunky attempt at flirtation. 

Tressa looked at Cicero again and saw he had slightly lifted the cap from his eyes.

He looked to her, somehow knowing she had her gaze upon him, and then he looked to the end of the bed where Kor was in the floor below. 

Looking back to Tressa, she saw him give her a faint smile before resting the cap back over his eyes.

She grabbed an extra pillow from under her head and tossed it at Kor. 

He startled a little and rose up with a guilty expression. 

“Woke you, huh, angry little orc?” he asked.

“And me, mutt,” Cicero spoke.

“Mutt?” Kor repeated. 

“Curling up on the rug at the foot of my bed like a good dog?” 

“Would you rather I curl up in bed with you?” 

“Once you're housebroken.” 

Tressa interrupted their back and forth before it became a back and forth.

“Can we go to sleep now, before all the images you two put in my head seep into my dreams?” she deadpanned. 

Cicero chuckled and sleepily replied, “Perhaps it'd scare your nightmares away…..Good night, my Listener.”

“Night,” she replied.

Kor nestled down on the floor and laid his head upon the pillow Tressa had thrown at him. 

“Sleep like a rock..head,” he said to which she hardy har'd. 

She laid awake well after the other two fell into their deep breaths of sleep. 

It wasn't intentional. She wasn't worried of being gut in her sleep anymore. 

She just knew the strange dream of the Night Mother would come again. 

It had begun to frustrate her. Whatever message to make of it, she couldn't figure out. She was tired of the shroud and just wanted answers, but she had no control or demand of the dream. 

Maybe they really meant nothing, but clearly they must with its unfailing repetition.

The Night Mother was cryptic enough in the waking world.

It was straight forward enough with “Bring Sybil" but why? And why these dreams?

Tressa just wanted a good nights rest and to take her mask off so she could comfortably bury herself into the pillow. 

Maybe her own shroud was becoming a bother too.

Eventually she felt the pull of sleep, regardless of her racing mind trying to outrun it. 

She drifted into the dark hum; her thoughts hushed by the void.

But here it came again. 

Or was about to.

The blurry room nearly materialized itself again, but suddenly she felt herself yanked back to the waking world.

“Listener,” she heard a quick tone from Cicero, “Wake up…Tressa.”

She jolted awake to see her companion knelt by her bedside and ceasing his nudging of her. 

“What?” Tressa pulled herself up in confusion and slight worry of his tone, “What is--"

“Outside,” he said.

“What?”

“People outside,” he repeated. 

Tressa slung herself up and swung her feet to the floor trying to gather her foggy brain. 

“Cicero, the mercenaries, remember?” she sleepily grumbled, but she saw Kor was up too and standing at the foot of the stairs, armed with his short swords. 

Then she heard the muffled, but very loud, shouting up above outside. 

“Forsworn attack?” she asked pushing herself off the bed and following in line behind the two men up the stairs. 

“Can't hear clashing,” Kor replied, “Just shouting…”

They stood at ready on the upper floor, listening to the commotion outside and making out what was being shouted.

“You don't look of any authority I know!” they heard Pavo's voice, “So step away from my property before I let my hired guard escort you away in any way they please!” 

“You're harboring children of Sithis. Move,” they heard a reply. 

The trio looked to each other.

“They're knocking for us,” Tressa said. 

Pavo's voice raised even further. His voice sure could boom for someone who &nbsphad no fight in him. 

“I am not HARBORING anyone! I have friends over, so whoever in Oblivion you are….Piss. Off.”

Suddenly the door opened and someone quickly slid in.

The trio immediately riled to arms, but saw it was Gat, the Orc. 

“Oh, hey. Yes, um,” Gat greeted, quickly shutting the door and looking to them, “….Good Morning. Sorry for the rude roosters.”

“What's going on?” Kor asked, “Who is the peckerhead out there?” 

Cicero snorted at his pun. 

“I’m sorry, Corn,” Gat shrugged and looked a little more confused when Cicero chuckled further, “…I don't know. Some weird folk. Pavo and our sell swords have it. No worries.”

They heard the peckerhead again. 

“Your ‘friends' are a young Nord man, a small Imperial jester, and an even smaller masked woman, yes? We asked one of your men here if they've seen them and already got our answer that they are, in fact, here.” 

The trio again looked to each other.

Tressa looked Cicero up and down as he was still in the Dark Brotherhood armor. 

“Where's the jester?” she quickly asked trying to make light of the questionable situation. 

“Hopefully not cinders in the fireplace,” he replied glancing and finding she had completed the drying of his suit and sat it away on the table. 

Pavo was heard.

“My friends are my friends and no concern to whoever you are. If they've committed some crime then bring the REAL authorities with you, so go on now and get them!” 

The peckerhead responded forcefully but with some reservation. 

“We really do not wish to cause harm to you or your lot of hired guard here….But we insist you allow us access to your ‘friends'….though if you're friends with Dark Brotherhood….”

“I am friends with good people who saved my livelihood, not ended it, so…”

A bit more tense back and forth proceeded with Pavo and this peckerhead as the targeted trio inside looked to Gat. 

“How many are out there? What do they look like?” Tressa asked the Orc.

“I think only 8 or so,” Gat replied, “Robes. Mages or temple folk…..Maybe cult. Some sort of insignias on their robes I don't recognize…”

Tressa looked to Cicero.

“Think it has anything to do with our little quest?” she asked. 

Cicero looked a little in thought and replied, “Perhaps. It's very odd that, whoever they are, they're looking for the three of us specifically…..Wonder if Hragar's father also runs a cult….”.

“Should we…,” Kor spoke, “Just go out there and ask why?”

Cicero began walking towards a side window of the cabin. 

“What are you doing?” the Nord asked.

“Taking a peek,” the unjestered jester replied. 

Gat suddenly replied partial nonsense. 

“Oh, did you three not see our fancy plumbing system? That's what the door over there--"

Tressa interrupted him.

“You have some hearing issues don't you, Gat?” 

“Hmm? Sorry. Using dynamite in the mines probably has done a bit of damage.”

Tressa and Kor looked backed to where Cicero had been and saw he had already snuck out the window. 

Tressa sighed but before she could say anything, they heard one of Pavo's hired guard finally lose patience and apparently engage the peckerhead with force.

That was when a large icy spear not only went right through the mercenary outside, but straight through the front of the cabin wall and into Gat. 

Startled shouts from outside, as well as Tressa and Kor's own shocked responses, erupted. 

Tressa rushed to Gat as he collapsed on the floor and as the voices outside increased in hostility.

“WE DO NOT WISH TO HARM YOU,” the peckerhead shouted angrily now, “I will heal your dying man and leave you be, if you step aside….If not…”

Pavo was shrieking in anger now.

“WHO ARE YOU?! YOU CAN NOT DO THIS! WHO IN OBLIVION ARE YOU?!” 

Tressa looked over Gat trying to quickly figure out what to do about the ice spear through him and heal what she could, but it had penetrated straight through his back and into his heart. He died just as quickly as she tried to help him.

“No! Damn it. Damn it!” she shouted, clearly upset. 

Kor rushed to her, kneeling down beside her and looking at the fallen Orc as well. 

“Is he?..Is there a-anything we can--"

“He's dead,” Tressa said with a frustrated slam of her fist on the floor. 

Pavo could be heard stomping towards the peckerhead. 

“HEAL THE MAN YOU STRUCK AND GO! OR I GIVE THE OKAY FOR AAALL MY GUARD TO--"

Tressa suddenly burst out of the cabin in fury. 

“Who are you?!” she angrily demanded and looked to Pavo while pointing behind her at the pierced cabin front, “It hit Gat too, Pavo. He's dead.” 

Pavo's face began to shift into shock, but he was suddenly slung aggressively out of the way by the peckerhead.

The robed man immediately sent another icy spear hurling, aimed for Tressa, but she evaded its strike as it speared through the cabin door. Hopefully not into Kor this time.

This aggression though incited all the mercenaries to attack, charging in on the eight robed men. 

The peckerhead, clearly the leader of this little brigade, casted a whirlwind that tossed all the mercenaries about and off their feet. 

“Be smart. Lay down. We just want them,” he warned.

Tressa had resisted the spell and sent an ice spike of her own hurling back towards the peckerhead’s head, but he had a Greater Ward cast over him that shattered her spike. 

The bastard seemed cocky as he shook his head at the girl, even tsked, as if she should have known better. 

“Who are you people?” Tressa demanded to know again. 

“An end,” the peckerhead replied before sending another icy spear directly at her.

She had casted a Greater Ward of her own that absorbed the impact, shattering his spear. 

“You can't see it,” she said, “But I'm giving you that same cocked face, AssEnd.” 

A few moments before, since the moment Tressa had come out the door, Cicero had made his way around and behind the robed men undetected. 

He targeted one that had stood a bit back from his fellow men and silently approached him. Cicero even managed to evade being thrown by the whirlwind by quickly dropping low and holding ground.

He was quickly approaching striking range when the target suddenly detected him and defensively turned around. 

Cicero hadn't pulled his dagger yet and began the split second decision on whether to go ahead and pounce or double back and evade, but his not having drawn his weapon may have been a save. 

The target eyed him quickly up and down and warned, “I suggest you fall with your mercenary comrades.”

Cicero was slightly confused for a moment. He wasn't in the jester attire they were expecting, yes, but the robed man failed to recognize the Dark Brotherhood attire. Not that it was particularly well known, but they tracked them specifically calling out their organization….You'd think…

“The jester?” Cicero said, “He snuck out the side of the cabin.”

The robed man seemed less defensive now. Good error. 

“You saw him?” the man asked Cicero. 

“I know exactly where he went. Where he is,” the unjestered jester replied, “…Look.”

He turned around and pointed out yonder to entice the man to come closer to him, to which he did in an attempt to see where Cicero was pointing.

As soon as the man was beside him, Cicero latched an arm around his head to cover his mouth and stabbed his dagger through his throat. 

The other robed men failed to notice.

Cicero softly lowered the quieting man to the ground and was quickly trying to plan how to peg the rest of them one by one, but suddenly they all moved on Tressa.

“Kill her,” the peckerhead had ordered.

The remaining men moved in front of the peckerhead and began hurling an assortment of spells at Tressa, certain to overwhelm her Greater Ward or distract for a physical assault.

But that was when the cabin door not just burst open, but entirely came off its hinges as Kor now had it, another door, and the table, broken from its legs, stacked all in his grasp as he rushed in front of Tressa. 

The strange stack of shields miraculously worked in blocking the overwhelming toss of spells, although the cabin door on the brunt took severe damage. 

Kor looked over his shoulder at Tressa and smirked.

“This fails and we're going to use your rockhead instead,” he teased, although there seemed to be a good bit of worry in his eyes. 

They heard the peckerhead laugh. 

“Really?” he chuckled, “Knock, knock. Who's behind the door?.....Can my atronach come out and play?” 

He was aiming to summon one directly by them, but just before he could, one of his men fell dead to an arrow in his head. 

Their attention drew to the cause.

Pavo had commandeered a bow from one of the mercenaries and struck him dead.

“What am I paying you worthless lot for?!” he yelled at his guard, furious at the death of Gat and the failings of his hired swords, “Fire or you're fired, cowards!” 

The mercenaries seemed to want to prove their worth now as they again rushed to attack the mages. 

Spells went flying, easily taking down a good few mercenaries, but sheer numbers broke through and the mages were proving as challenged as any strict magic user in close combat. 

Another mage had fallen to a skewer of blades, prompting the peckerhead to show his force as he sent a powerful line of chain lightning through the closest mercenaries to his men and then another round taking down all archers.  
Pavo's men were rapidly dwindling. 

The peckerhead was clearly a force to be reckoned with. 

Kor and Tressa peeked this from around the makeshift shields.

The Nord tucked back behind the cover and pulled Tressa closer to him and behind, so that he was an added shield.

“Charge that zap of yours,” he said, “Before that guy sends his this way or sticks us together with that ice stick….”

“Kor, it could kill everyone in this not-exactly-open-quarters….”

“You got a better plan?” he asked, “Besides waiting for him to come knocking?” 

“Yeah, let him knock,” Tressa replied, “Keep him knocking until…look…”

She had him peek again to see Cicero working his way closer and closer to the peckerhead while he and the remaining mages were distracted with the mercenaries. 

“What about those magic shields? I saw it through the hole in the wall...How's Cicero going--"

“Those wards are absolutely useless against anything non-magic, ask the mages on the ground, Arrowhead and Kebab. They're really only good to deflect a few spells. It’s rubbish, really--- OH, Sithis' left nu--!”

The peckerhead had targeted them again, summoning that atronach he mentioned directly beside them. 

It was a large frost atronach, towering over them and readying its clubbing chunk of ice for an arm. 

Kor quickly picked up the shoddy shields and turned them facing the atronach, who smashed them clear out of the way. 

“The Nord?....huh,” the peckerhead finally saw who had held the door, “….So where is that jester?..Still inside?”

He was about to cast a large fireball to set the cabin ablaze as the atronach handled the other two, but instead, he spun around detecting a presence behind him. 

“No, no,” the peckerhead said as if he was a scolding parent, switching his blast of fire into a blast of frostbite. 

Cicero went down to the ground as the spell seeped into his very core.

The unjestered jester groaned in pain.

“Uuurgh, that's coooold,” he said.

The peckerhead stood over him.

“Look,” he spoke, “I don't really want to slaughter every one of you uninvolved swords for se---"

He paused, eyeing Cicero a bit more curiously. 

“Hmmm,” the peckerhead narrowed his eyes and had a hint of a smile, “….Tell me a joke, would you?”

Cicero took a couple of quick breaths, curled a bit into a ball as his core felt absolutely encased in ice, but then he gave a smile.

“Your mother's so large,” he groaned out, “It took two contracts to finish her.”

The peckerhead laughed but then retorted something himself. 

“Well, YOUR mother,” he said, “is nothing but a hollowed out husk. A dead duck waiting to be plucked from the water.”

Cicero tightened his curl as the pain seemed to stab further in. 

“My joke was better,” he still managed to reply. 

“Well, we're not all jesters…,” the peckerhead gave an unbothered shrug.   
\---  
During the time that Cicero was grounded by the peckerhead, Tressa and Kor fought the frost atronach.

Tressa was hitting it with quick bursts of firebolts, doing minimal melting, as its wildly swinging and smashing arm wasn't giving her time to charge up something bigger and hotter.

Kor was trying to help by smashing his swords into it as hard as he could, barely managing to avoid being clubbed to death in the process. 

He ducked a swing which was just about to collide with Tressa instead, so Kor quickly snatched her ankle and swept her off her feet and straight on her back. 

“Ow!” Tressa yelped, “I don't think girls mean sweep them off their feet like—whoa, shite!” 

The atronach was about to impale her with its other, spiked, arm when Kor dragged her out from under it before it hit. 

She had slid under him from the yank and he gave her a flirty smirk. 

“Oh, I'm sorry,” he said, “This part is suppose to be by a cozy fireside too, huh?” 

A small chuckle could be heard under her mask before Kor rolled them out of the way of the atronach’s clubbing arm smashing down.

Its spiked arm had been lodged in the ground, leaving it momentarily stuck.

Kor got up and raced to its back side, where it couldn't reach with its clubbing arm, and the Nord struck his swords as hard as he could to chip and break chunks off the thing. 

Tressa took the opportunity of its stuck state to channel a more powerful pillar of fire and concentrated on its core. 

It then used its clubbing arm as a shield and occasionally struck the ground near its trapped arm to loosen it, so she focused on that clubbed arm. 

If she could destroy that arm, it's core would be open to her flame and its other arm would remain stuck to trap its fate. 

But it was managing to loosen its lodged spike fast with the busting of the ground around it.

“Kor!” Tressa called, “Kor! Hit its club!” 

Kor moved back around it, dodging its first swing at him and then striking its club as hard as he could when it came back for him.

Tressa had successfully weakened it enough that it finally shattered upon Kor's strike, but it broke one of his swords in the process. 

He cheered at the shattering of the atronach’s arm, but cursed the breaking of his sword. 

“Ah, shit!” he exclaimed, looking at what remained of the sword in his hand and failing to see the atronach stumbling back and it's spiked arm sliding from the ground.

“Kor!! Watch out!” Tressa hollered.

He realized too late when the spiked arm swung at him and knocked him clear off the ground.

As soon as he landed, the atronach was on top of him and stabbing down.

The peckerhead had conjured another icy spear and held it menacingly in his hand as he closed what little distance there was between him and Cicero.

He raised it higher and higher obviously intending to impale the Imperial and was making a menacing show of it. 

Cicero, though, rolled onto his back and chuckled.

“Yes, y-yes,” he said clearly unimpressed, “You're very scary. Such dread. Cicero probably would be releasing his bladder was it not frozen…hahaha.”

The peckerhead gave a small laugh as he stood over the chuckling man and began to descend the spear towards his heart.

But suddenly the peckerhead grunted and gasped.

And then again and again as someone had did what Cicero failed to do earlier and catch him off guard behind his back. 

The peckerhead was being stabbed in the back repeatedly in a vicious cycle. 

Cicero mustered the strength to clamp his legs around the peckerhead’s legs and twisted to flop him to the ground.

Once the peckerhead was flat of his back, Cicero pushed up, and in a quick move, he sank his dagger into the peckerhead’s chest. 

The mage began gurgling and sputtering, looking at Cicero's smiling face and then to who had poked hole upon hole in his back, and finally to where his remaining men had been. 

Cicero looked over to these things too.

“Pavo!” he said happily to the man that aided him, “….We're sorry. We didn't invite these hoodlums to breakfast, honest.”

Pavo nodded and gave a very faint smile, but obviously was rattled and saddened. 

He helped Cicero to his feet, who was increasingly feeling the icy needles leave him, and the Imperial scanned over the now noticeably quieted area. 

It appeared the other mages and the mercenaries had wiped each other out. Pavo was the only survivor.

Besides Tressa and Kor, of course. 

Cicero looked over to where they were to see the atronach reeling backwards and breaking apart at the falling of his caster. 

The Imperial started to smile until he heard Tressa screaming his name in panic. 

“Cicero!! Cicerooo! Help!!” 

He saw her scrambling towards Kor, who had been sitting up but suddenly flopped back and was screeching in pain.

Cicero and Pavo both dashed to them and saw a grave situation upon reaching Kor.

Kor hadn't managed to scoot out of the atronach’s strike in time, and its spike had nearly severed his right leg completely off at the thigh. 

Tressa was in a panic.

“W-what do w-we do? Cicero, I can't h-heal that!” she stammered and paced around Kor.

Cicero grabbed the sides of her head and made her look at him.

“Well, first, stop showing off how well your intact legs work,” he said and guided her off the pacing to kneel beside Kor, “And heal what you can until we figure out what's left….Think on your feet---bad expression--….Think as you go.”

“O-okay,” she nodded and tried to heal the horrible wound. 

She managed to bring it back from nearly severed to almost nearly severed.   
Not enough at all. 

Kor screamed in excruciating pain as the blood continued to pour out. 

“I can't, Cicero!” Tressa pulled back her hands, “I'm stupid. Stupid! I don't have the skill to-"

“Stop,” Cicero replied, “Keep tryin--"

Kor groaned and spoke in incredible pain and sounded fearful as well.

“I…I'm gonna die. I d-don't want to die!” 

“Stop!” Cicero insisted again, “You're going to be okay!” 

But the Imperial looked to Pavo with wide eyes and silently mouthed, “No he's not.”. 

Tressa suddenly popped Cicero on the chest.

“Ow!” he replied, “I was just jo--"

“The travel scrolls!” she exclaimed.

“What?”

“The scrolls! Weylen!” she explained, “Weylen can help! Babette's potions! We have to go home. Now.”

“But we'r--" Cicero began but Tressa cut him off quickly. 

“Get the scrolls! Now. Kor's going to bleed to death! Go!” 

“Okay, okay! Keep healing what you can.”

Cicero got up and rushed into the cabin to obtain the scrolls. 

After a moment he was back with them, but Tressa also noticed his jester attire tucked in his arm. 

“Really?” she said impatiently to which Cicero nodded as if it was obvious.

“Yeah,” Cicero replied, “Would you rather lose us both?” 

“Oh my gods…come on,” Tressa shook her head and grabbed a scroll, “How…what do I….”

She was trying to remember how to use it when suddenly Pavo fell dead beside them. 

An ice spike through his head. 

“What?! No! What?!” Tressa shouted as she and Cicero both startled to it. 

Looking over, they saw the peckerhead picking himself up and healing his wounds. 

He hadn't died from his injuries and Cicero cursed himself for not being sure of it. 

“Damn it! I should have gutted and sliced him to little pecker pieces!!” the Imperial growled. 

He began to stand as if to go at the mage again, but Tressa yanked him back down.

“No! We gotta go! Now!... Now!” she said and placed the scroll on Kor's chest.  
She placed her hand upon it and linked arms with Cicero.

“Mother, Sithis, any God out there listening,” she said, “Let this work…”

She took a glance at the peckerhead as the scroll began to glow and saw him smiling.

Then felt the scroll wisp them through the gateway to their destination.


	13. No Time to Worry

Chapter 13: No Time to Worry

Nazir was seated at the table in the commons of the Sanctuary.

He sat lazily back in his chair, foot propped up on the edge of the table, and was carefully teetering on its back two legs. He rocked it gently as he read from a book. 

The morning had been quiet there, as it has been since the trio left on the quest to retrieve Sybil. 

No Cicero in his usual antics of noise. No Tressa sassing off or joining in with Cicero and his noise. No Kor being obnoxious, trying to get a rise out of his brother or anyone else in his vicinity. 

Nazir had been enjoying this break, as the remaining members there held no candle to the amount of unnecessary sounds the three that had left could produce.

Admittedly though, he would be content with Tressa's return. 

As irksome as she could be at times, he had come to care about her like some sass-mouthed little sister--- very much like someone he had lost long ago. 

Plus, she loved his cooking.   
And loved complimenting his cooking.   
That was noise he could hear all day. 

And perhaps he wouldn't necessarily despise Cicero's return with her. 

At first, after Cicero had come back from the dead after his supposed slaying by the Listener, Nazir had almost hoped the funny man would have a funny and fatal slip up.   
The Redguard's stomach was always in knots with that little guy running loose in the Sanctuary.   
The unpredictability. The noise. The flippant temper. The horrible jokes. Noise. Grating laugh. Laughs. The man had a whole array of laughs. An arsenal of weaponized noise as every single giggle, chuckle, chortle, snort, guffaw, or overdrawn gasp of delight was an assault on Nazir’s ears. The damn noise. 

But perhaps the little clown had grown on him. Just a little. 

For whatever reason, Tressa liked the guy. Nazir could see that. 

He'd never understand why.

Actually. 

He could. 

Nazir wasn't exactly the most befriending to Tressa upon their first meeting.

Given, he wasn't the most unwelcoming at that time either. Festus and Arnbjorn had that covered. 

But considering what they all were, Nazir doubt the girl expected to be sworn in with cheek kisses and chatty hair braiding. 

Still though, he could see a bit under that shroud of hers himself.

It couldn't cover the blatant skin that laid scarred and weathered by nearly all who claimed, or have ever claimed, the Brotherhood.

Tressa was a lost girl. 

Reaching out to anyone left that could find her. 

The Brotherhood was, and has always been, a collector of broken compasses. 

You could ask any member and it was a true rarity to get a response of “because I just love murdering people.”. 

The girl was seeking things she lost faith in finding anywhere else.

She sought it whether she believed she still did or not. 

It didn't take Nazir long to see it. 

The girl wanted a family. Bonds that could not, or at least should not, ever be broken. 

A brother. A sister. A mother. A father. A friend. 

Any one of those things that she should have had and should have been able to entrust her very self to. 

Some one who could pull her along and she have no fear of where the leading hand would take her.

Or push her forward with no fear of being shoved to the ground instead.

Or just simply have the hand of someone beside her, willing to walk the same ground together. 

Nazir could see it. The girl wasn't all that different than Astrid in those regards.  
Family. A safehaven. No matter where you were, if these people were with you, you were home. 

But it's when Nazir could sense an attempt to seek those things in him, he failed Tressa. 

His failings in his previous life, to be any of the things the girl sought, prevented him from being anything to her other than “here's your contract"….and maybe a lukewarm joke to try and not be a total ass.   
He was a lot more open to her nowadays, but by the time he decided to stop letting his own broken compass guide things, there was Cicero.

Nazir had pegged the man to have been the one to roll into the Brotherhood on a balancing ball, juggling freshly excavated organs, while singing about how much he loved murdering people.  
The clown was incredibly unhinged. 

But somehow that clown and Tressa formed a genuine friendship, and for brief moments, Nazir could see Tressa bring something out in Cicero. A quieting of that drowning laughter. A clarity in his eyes. 

Nazir no longer pegged the clown to just be a happy, stabby carnival of gut ripping fun. 

No, Nazir was far more perceptive than he'd ever let them know.

Cicero lost something too.

Something he was seeing within Tressa as well, just as Nazir had seen something of his own lost life in her, but Cicero was not backing away from it as Nazir had done.

Whatever it was that Cicero saw in her was allowing him to be close to what he had lost, and he seemed alright with the reminder being near. 

And if the guy could bring a real laugh out of the girl, and she could quieten his noise, ….then Nazir was content.

Kor, though, he had no real opinion on.

The young Nord was leaning a bit on the could-do-without side, but time would tell. 

Perhaps this time away from puddle-ducking his brother would show he could stand on his own two feet. 

Nazir brought his book down to his chest in thought. 

What should he make for lunch today? 

Suddenly a loud crack of unnatural noise erupted with an equally unnatural flash of light. 

It erupted just adjacent to him, in the middle of the commons, catching him so off guard he had shoved himself back with his foot and completely lost balance of his chair.

He nearly cracked his skull on the step up to the fireplace behind him but quickly collected himself upright.   
He remained in a crouch, ready to duck and dive out of the way of whatever was the cause of the commotion, but then he rose up in wide eyed surprise.

The trio back from their quest, but no Sybil, and the Nord boy shrieking in pain as blood gushed from a leg barely threaded on. 

Tressa seemed to be looking to make sure the limb was even still with them, as Cicero watched the portal recede into nothing and then stared blankly ahead in thought.

It took Nazir a few blinks to make sure he was seeing what he was seeing, and a double take of Cicero as he almost didn't recognize him without that jester suit on. 

But that auburn hair and the suit tucked in his arm accessed it quickly. 

Nazir opened his mouth to say something to them, or make some questioning noise, but Tressa began shouting loudly. As loudly as she could over Kor's roars of pain. 

“WEYLEN!!” she screamed, “WEYLEN!! HELP! WE NEED YOU! WEYLEN!!” 

She was looking about wildly to see if he was in the room. 

Upon spotting Nazir, she frantically asked, “Weylen? Where's Weylen? Gods, damn it, is he even here right now?! WEYLEN!! BABETTE! BABETTE, WAKE UP! GET OUT HERE!!”

Cicero had been tapping Tressa's arm.

“Hold on, wait,” he was saying, “Listener, the scroll shouldn't have--"

“WEYLEN! BABETTE!!” she was paying Cicero no mind, “For fu--"

“Listener, Tressa, hold on. The scro--"

“We don't have time to hold on, Cicero! Have you lost-- Kor's going to bleed. to. death…WEY LEEEN!!” 

The man she hollered for finally rushed into the room from the hall entrance, along with Babette. 

Cicero almost seemed guarded when they flocked in, but Tressa took no notice and urged him out of the way with some pushing. 

The jester got up and moved, but he kept a skeptical eye.

Weylen quickly got down next to Tressa, immediately setting to work casting a powerful healing spell upon Kor. He concentrated directly on the leg and its nearly lack of connection to the body. 

The Breton looked to Babette over his shoulder. 

“Regenerative potion, any sort would help,” he said and she nodded, making off to her alchemy station.

He then looked to Tressa.

“Do you know Calm?” he asked. 

“W-what?” 

“Calm. Calming spell, do you know it? The boy's panic isn't helping with this gushing blood flow and I need to fully focus on piecing this together before he's drained out....”

Tressa gave a small shrug.

“I..I-I don't know,” she said. 

“What do you mean you don't…,” Weylen sighed, “Okay, just do it hands-on. Calm him down as best you can.”

Tressa seemed to withdraw for a second and then turned her attention to Kor, awkwardly placing her hand to his chest and was clearly unsure what to do. 

Weylen went back to fully concentrating on bringing the boy’s limb back together. 

“Kor!!” they heard a voice ring out from the stairs, “What hap—Kor!!” 

It was Aphid. He had had a cross bow in his hands that he dropped upon his shouting and began descending the stairs fast. 

“What happened to my brother?!” he worriedly shouted, nearly colliding with Babette as she was still on her way up to her alchemy station. 

Nazir caught Aphid by the arm as he came off the steps to prevent him from possibly getting in the way.

The usually level headed Nord heatedly flung his arm out of Nazir’s grip and shoved the Redguard aside, but Cicero suddenly stepped in his way while holding up a piece of paper in his view. 

It had a quickly drawn copy of the insignia the mages wore on their robes.

Aphid simply looked confused by this. 

“What is that?” he questioned with befuddlement, “A rune? …Cicero, please, let me to my brother.”

Cicero was eyeing Aphid's reaction carefully but lowered the paper and stepped aside just a little.

Weylen then spoke out to the Nord. 

“Unless you have a healing touch as well,” he said, “You'd help your little brother more over there.”

Weylen then glanced Tressa's clunky attempts at being soothing to Kor, giving him weak “It's okay"s and awkwardly patting him. 

“Actually,” the Breton then remarked, “I'm sure your brotherly touch is better than….that? Listener, stop. Just add whatever heal you can muster here. Aphid, soothe your brother.”

Tressa immediately relinquished the soothing duty to Aphid and cast what mediocre bandaid spell she had alongside Weylen's powerful heal. 

Babette had returned as well with a handful of small, full vials. 

She handed them off to Aphid who carefully managed to get Kor to down them.

Finally, with Weylen's experienced magic and Babette's potions, and a little of Tressa's help, the leg was sewn back in its place.  
There was little evidence it had ever even been nicked, aside a very thin blushed line, akin to a scar, which was slowly fading away as well. 

Kor's voice, rasp from the continuous screaming, gave a sigh of relief. 

“Thank the…well, thank you all,” he sighed, his head laid on his brother's knee, “I thought I was gone.” 

He was still very paled and shaking as if he were weak or cold. 

Weylen gave the Nord's leg a hard couple of pats.

“You're going to be a bit woozy,” the Breton told him, “As it stands, Babette could probably sip the last of your blood right now, but perhaps she has some concoction she can muster up to help you out.”

The little vampire gave a nod and went off back to her alchemy station to do just that. 

Kor looked to Tressa, the girl seeming despondent as her lens stared off at nothing. He put a hand to her arm with a weak smile.

Her face turned to him, looking from his hand to his face. 

“What?” she asked.

“You're really lousy at bedside manner,” he said. 

Tressa gave some sort of hissing sigh and Weylen added even more to her shortcomings.

“And rather lacking in that restoration,” he said.

Tressa seemed on the defensive now. 

“Well, we didn't all get to be trained at a college or guild or….or have comforting mentors or whatever,” she huffed as she plopped herself onto her butt from her knees with folded arms, as if some child about to tantrum. 

Weylen extended an hand to her shoulder.

“You can just come to me, Listener,” he said, “I am more than willing to help you with that magicka…But absolutely no promises on comfort.” 

Tressa made a grumble in response and Kor lightly backhanded her leg and poked fun.

“I'll teach ya how to hug,” he said. 

Tressa looked as if she was about to kick him, but Aphid gently pushed her foot down and began questioning what had happened.

Weylen moved away to the wash basin by the cooking station to clean off any of Kor's blood that may have got on him.   
  
“We were attacked,” Tressa told Aphid to which Aphid had shut his eyes for just a moment, resisting the urge to sigh in annoyance. He instead replied with a light joke. 

“Well, I didn't think Cicero had pulled his leg too hard…”

Tressa tilted her head as Kor also gave a puzzled brow. 

“Get it?” Aphid blandly shrugged, “Jester. Telling jokes. Pulling his leg…”

“Ooooh,” Tressa understood, “Oh. Of course. Haha, yeah. Now I get it.”

“You don't have to fake laugh, Listener,” Aphid explained, “I know I don't tell jokes as smoothly as whoever sliced through my brother. We're not all jesters.”

Overhearing that comment snapped Cicero to attention. Those words.

He had a glare on Aphid and looked as if he was about to call out to him, but suddenly his eyes darted to Tressa instead.

“Tressa. Come here,” he called, the mixture of his heated tone and calling her by name made her jump.

“Whoa,” she startled, “What am I? In trouble or something? Damn.”

Cicero quickly toned it down, realizing his urgency may keep attention from the others on what he had to discuss with her. 

“I'm sorry, my Listener,” he said, faking a smile, “Cicero's still a bit riled up…Uh, I just wanted you to come see if I got this sketch correctly…”

“What sketch?” 

“Of the symbol worn on the mage's clothes.”

“Sybil?”

“Symbol.”

“What symbol?”

“…….You've got to take that masking mask off, Listener….”

Tressa stood up with a laugh and dismissive wave. 

“I'm kidding. I'm kidding,” she said and tapped Aphid with her foot, “How to joke around, lesson one.” 

“Listener,” Cicero said unamused.

Tressa tapped Aphid again. 

“How to pester the jester, less--" “Tressa!” “Gods, okay. YOU need to put your silly suit back on…”

She accompanied Cicero to the table, leaving Aphid to talk with his brother about the events. 

Tressa leaned over to look at the drawing Cicero had done, but he urged her to sit down with a couple of inconspicuous jabs.

She did so and he sat next to her with his back to Aphid, Kor, and Weylen. 

Tressa's lens were locked onto Cicero's thinking gaze.

“Okay. What is going on, Cicero?” she quietly asked as they then pretended to be looking over the sketch.

Nazir had seated by them, being able to tell they were talking about something other than the sketch, but he made sure to also appear interested in this mock up of the insignia, as he actually was interested—considering he wanted all the details going on.

“The scroll,” Cicero whispered, “Why did it work?”

“What?”

“Our enemy was right there,” he explained.

“I don't know,” Tressa quietly replied, “I know Babette had mentioned it not working should an enemy be nearby, but I have to say, that would be a terrible function. Leaving you trapped? Maybe she was wrong or the scrolls have been modified to only let the intended through?....Wait, what is this? Are you suspicious of them? Of Aphid and--"

“Why did the mage know exactly who he was looking for?” Cicero added. 

“You questioned if Hragar's father had dealings with a cult. He clearly was not intimidated of us. Saw exactly who we were; what we were, and I bet he didn't appreciate the dead Hragar you left for him.”

“Who's Hragar?” Nazir asked quietly. 

“A nosy Nord,” Tressa replied, “Was a nosy Nord. His father might want a stern word with us….Wouldn't that be the most likely, or at least second most likely, explanation? First not being one of our own? What would they have done? Sent a letter of who to expect the day we left?”

Cicero sighed. 

“Perhaps you're right,” he said. 

“You paranoid goat,” Tressa knocked him with her elbow, “And there's still the possibility it has everything to do with Sybil. The Ass-end said they were ‘an end'. My dreams, they…” 

Weylen was walking up to them now, looking towards the paper they pretended to study. 

He had a clear look of recognition in his eyes when he was close enough to see the sketch. 

Cicero immediately questioned him.

“You know it? Why do you know it? Who is it?” he drilled. 

Weylen furrowed his brows in thought.

“I do know it,” he said, “….Or...Not know it, but I have seen it. I know I've seen it. Gods, must have been a lifetime ago. Where….The people who bore this attacked you?” 

“Quite specifically had it out for us,” Cicero said, “The whole Brotherhood…”

“Huh…,” Weylen scratched at his beard, “I'm going to ponder this fuzzy memory on tea. Should I put on a pot?” 

Tressa and Nazir gave light nods and semi-shrugs as Weylen turned back away towards the cooking station to put on a pot of water for tea. 

Tressa, though, could see Cicero's mind working. 

“Stop suspecting him. All of them,” she said, “You're getting too in your head.”

“Oh really?” Cicero almost snipped at her, “Coming from you? I'm fairly sure that, you're so scared of being betrayed, you're worried you could stab your own back.”

His skill at reading her through her mask didn't fail to sense the nerve he struck under that shroud. 

“I'm sorry,” he said, quickly and sincerely, “Cicero's sorry, my Listener. I’m just on edge.”

“Get your damn jester suit on,” she bit back at him, folding her arms and sinking in her chair, “That stupid armor is affecting your funny bone. I know it.”

Cicero gave a nearly inaudible sigh, looking a bit regrettable for his earlier comment, but then got a small, cheeky grin. 

“Told you you didn't want to lose us both,” he said, plopping his jester cap atop her head as he stood to go change into the rest of the outfit. 

Tressa simply huffed.

Cicero was walking away but stopped for a moment and glanced around.

“Where's Tsuni?” he asked.

Aphid replied to him.

“Out for a walk,” he said.

“That kitty-cat sure loves her strolls,” the soon to be rejestered jester remarked as he continued on to go change. Kor sat up and called after him with an excited idea.

“Oh! Oh! Wait! Don't change! Let me and Tressa hide and you surprise her as a new member! Ceciro!” 

Tressa shook her head.

“Nuh-uh. Let him change.” 

Cicero continued on but did chuckle at the subtle, flipped pronunciation of his name. 

As Cicero changed, things in the commons fully settled. 

Babette had given Kor some quick potions to help bring him back to full recovery and everyone, except Cicero and the still absent Tsuni, sat down at the table to discuss what had happened.

“And they knew the three of you?” Babette questioned, “Knew who they were looking for?” 

“Yeah,” Tressa affirmed. Nazir shrugged and flipped out his hand as if the answer was on it. 

“Sounds like someone you had recently pissed off then, sending a tail.…”

“Maybe, but I don't think so,” Tressa nodded but then shrugged. 

Cicero had returned by now, back in his jester attire--save for the cap he then plucked off of Tressa's head.

He sat in the available chair next to her as he swooped his hair back and plopped the hat atop his own head.

Nazir looked to him and made a comment on that hat business. 

“Thank you. That thing atop her head was not settling well. We don't need two of you.”

Tressa ignored Nazir and spoke before Cicero could reply.

“I think, just a thought, that those mages are connected to Sybil,” she said, “The guy in charge of that band of ‘em said they were ‘an end'. I keep…keep having these reoccurring dreams…with the Night Mother….saying things like ‘end' or…’this must end'…”. 

“The Night Mother saying it?” Nazir questioned, “So what, in agreement with the mage?”

“Yeah, I know it doesn't make sense. Dreams are weird, you know,” Tressa replied, “The weirdest one was of a woman IN the Night Mother's grasp. Maybe Sybil? I don't know if it's symbolic or a message—OH! Oh! I'm home, aren't I? I'm going to ask Mother myself! If that old crone has a dream-speak ability…”

Tressa stood and made off to go upstairs to the Night Mother, Cicero grabbing her just long enough to tell her not to be rude to Mother and then let her go. 

He then scooted the paper of the sketched symbol towards Weylen. 

“Any progress on oiling them gears in your head?” the jester asked. 

Weylen gave a nod.

“Something to do with eye…or eyes,” Weylen replied. 

“Hmm?”

“Yes,...I mean look at it,” the mage took the paper and pointed out the details.

“This half oval up top, with the two short, cut lines pointing down on the ends. It's a shut eye. The center line going down to the full oval, dot in center. Open eye. The circles surrounding the center line? Probably Nirn and its moons. Or realms….I have seen this before. I know I have. So vague, perhaps in passing, but it will come to me. I know it.”

Nazir shifted in his seat a bit with a thinking hum. 

“Anything you may have seen in a Mage's Guild in High Rock?” Nazir asked. 

“Perhaps,” Weylen answered, “But understand… mages of all sorts flock in and regurgitate back out through those facilities and so many people, who think themselves of any power, create their own little bands and guilds and make pretty little trinkets to represent them. I've seen a lot of crudely made name wear and fancy banners alike—all to be forgotten as boasting voices age.”

“Well,” Cicero stood, “Perhaps it'll stand out in the many, many…many memories you're sifting through…”

Kor, who had been sitting on the other side of Tressa and now just one empty chair down from Cicero, smirked and shot a cheeky eye at the jester. It didn't go unnoticed as Cicero pointed firmly at him.

“Do not,” he warned against whatever the Nord was going to remark, “Or that leg is coming right back off and Cicero will use it as a walking cane…..Oh, what's this?”

Cicero had noticed a book on the floor nearby, flopped as if fallen or tossed.

He picked it up, and after reading its spine, withdrew his lips like he was making an effort not to laugh. 

“Doing some reading, Kor?” he then asked, holding it up towards the confused Nord, “My, you are a lewd--"

Nazir had suddenly, and regrettably, dove across the table and snatched it from the jester with a vocal commotion. 

“Ah! Ah! Ah!—aaah, damn,” the Redguard had reacted before he thought and had given himself away. 

Cicero had burst into laughter and gave the man a surprised expression.

“Nazir!” he said in as much surprise as his eyes had, “My! My!”

“Shut. Up.”

“Lusting for lizards, are you?” 

“Shut your mouth. Now… And no,” he said, “I like comedy. GOOD comedy. Good satires.”

“Good little Argonian maids?”

“Stop.”

“You getting a rise wanting to bake that bread with her, chef?”

“ENOUGH---Wait. So how do you know what's in the book then, hmm?”

Cicero gestured to himself, his suit. 

“I'm a jester! Have we met? I'm practically required to read all such…satire, you said? Have you the Sultry Argonian Bard? Surely, you do, if these readings are purely for comedic val--"

“I am going to beat you to death.”

Cicero placed a hand on the bread loaf sat upon the table and ran his finger slowly across it, speaking softly and sickeningly sweet.

“With this…big…hard loaf of bread of yours?”

Nazir slammed the book down upon the table and glared the clown down.

“Get away from my bread,” he said in a far more threatening tone than anyone has probably ever used saying such a sentence. 

The clown recoiled, not in fear, but in laughter.   
Deep, belly laughter that had him slumped onto Kor's back, who was slumped forward on the table laughing just as deeply. 

Nazir only seemed frozen in that glare, possibly trying to set them alight with his mind's fire, but alas, he was not with the ways of magic. 

The two laughing fools eventually simmered and the jester left them all to talk amongst themselves, so he could check on Tressa up above with the Night Mother. 

He saw her just sitting on the edge of the stoop that the sarcophagus stood upon. 

“Well?” Cicero spoke as he approached, “Something wrong, Listener?” 

She shrugged.

“Don't know. Mother's sleeping in, apparently,” she replied, her tone implying an attempt to sound unbothered, but there was a hint of frustration.

Cicero stepped closer and knocked Tressa with his boot. 

“Scoot, scoot,” he said, pulling from his satchel the sarcophagus key, “Perhaps Mother went for a walk, too.”

“Huh? Wh—Like with Sunny? Are you seriously suggesting Sunny might be a culprit now t--”

“Listener. I'm joking,” the jester replied, “You really think Cicero would be this calm if he seriously thought someone secreted away our dear Mother? Geesh. Obligatory check. Now scoot, would ya?”

Tressa pushed her self up and stood behind him while he unlocked the doors and opened the tomb. 

There was silence for a moment.

“Phew,” the jester feigned a sigh of relief, “I gotta tell ya. The joke would have seriously been on Cicero if she wasn't there.”

Tressa gave a little blow of a laugh too.

“Yeah,” she said, “I almost half expected another woman to be in there with her.”

Cicero turned around and looked at her, his eyes darting as if in remembrance of something, and he then recalled that memory. 

“Remember when Cicero found you in there?” he said, “Gods, was I maaaaad.”

“I know! I was actually, really, scared! Haha You were so—AH! GODS!...SUNNY! WHY?!”

Tsuni had returned and had approached Tressa from behind as she talked to Cicero; the Khajiit unintentionally spooking her with a soft, but sudden greeting. 

Cicero clearly thought it funny though. 

Tressa spun back on him.

“You jerk! That's why you glanced behind me! You set me up!”

The jester gave a very unconvincing apologetic face as he tugged at his own clothes.

“Oh, Cicero's sorry. It must have been this suit,” he said. 

Tressa reactively shoved him, nearly causing him to fall right onto the remains of the Night Mother, but he caught himself just in time. 

His humored face quickly turned serious. 

“Heeey, watch it,” he said and warned, “Or you're going to be veeeeery scared again.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tressa simply dismissed him now, “….Sunny! Hi!”

The Khajiit looked quite puzzled to see them home, but smiled through the confusion anyway. 

“Listener! Mister Cicero,” she greeted again, “Tsuni is happy to see you well. Have you obtain Sybil so quickly?”

“No,” Tressa replied, “Our trip got cut short.”

Cicero added, “Like Kor's leg.”

Tsuni's golden orbs widened in concern.

Tressa waved a hand. 

“He's fine. He's fine now,” she explained, “Leg's attached again. Blood flowing on the inside….We'll catch up over lunch.”

Tsuni still looked a bit concerned but nodded and made way to the commons. 

Tressa put her gaze back upon the Night Mother, staring at her empty sockets as if trying to will some life to them.

The girl sighed and shook her head. 

“You'd think she'd at least ask me why I'm back empty handed….”

Cicero put a hand on her shoulder. 

“Maybe she knows,” he said, not seeming bothered by Mother's silence, “We didn't exactly tip-toe home.”

Tressa didn't say anything but gave a very small shrug. Her attempt at seeming unbothered wasn't very good.

Cicero gave her shoulder a couple pats. 

“Eh, maybe she's mad,” he said.

Tressa's lens looked to him.

“What?” she asked.

“Yeah, maybe she's giving you the silent treatment,” the jester suggested, a small smile indicating he was joking to deride her worry. Tressa shook her head, probably with a smile, but it was invisible under that mask. 

Cicero teased her further.

“Oh, maybe you're not even Listener anymore….”

The girl pushed his hand off her shoulder and put her hands to her temples. 

“Oh, no, now I'm going to worry that's actually it…,” Tressa replied with a nearly dreadful tone. 

Cicero looked as if he didn't intend to actually add more worry but then Tressa remarked, “….I'd have to start being more respectful to you as Keeper. No.”

The jester narrowed his eyes and blew a raspberry before shutting the tomb and walking away. 

Tressa remained with the sarcophagus for a few more minutes before rejoining the others.

It was decided that, unless the Night Mother spoke up otherwise, the trio would rest at home until the next day. 

They would decide how to pick back up their quest then, most likely using another scroll to port to Markarth—something Tressa felt regret for not doing in the first place. And they'd be taking Weylen with them this time. 

But the plans weren't solidified yet; the wake-up call that morning had rattled them and they at least wanted to decompress. 

But throughout the day, Tressa sensed a subtle unease in Cicero. 

So he was worried about something?

About Mother as well?

Or was he still on his suspicion bit?

Or was the laughter simply being too loud again? 

It was nearing evening hours when Tressa decided to sit by Mother again in hopes the husk had something say, to at least relieve that worry, but the Matron held her tongue--- or whatever mummified remains there was of one.

“Still giving the cold shoulder?” the jester had come up again too. 

Maybe he was worried about Mother after all, but then Tressa pushed it off to his duty as Keeper.   
Always a watchful eye was he, when anyone stepped too near—unless of course the Listener had him dragged off on some adventure….

Tressa was sitting on the stoop again, chin in hand, and flung up her other hand in a half shrug. 

“Think I should kick her in the shin and see if I get a reaction?” the girl asked. 

“I'll have to take your shin if you do,” Cicero replied, “And you won't be getting yours back like Kor.” 

“Just a little kick?”

“You want a little peg-leg? Be a little pirate?” 

“Then you have to call me Captain Listener—Oh! You're definitely my parrot! So colorful and never shuts up.”

Cicero sat down beside her and started patting her shoulder saying, “And always right here. Right. Here.”

He then switched to that annoying head pat. 

“Or perhaps up here.”

Tressa smacked his arm away. 

“Walk the plank,” she said. The jester chuckled.

“Stop your worrying, Listener,” he then said, “Mother has never uttered a word to me and look at me.”

Tressa flopped her hands down with a strange laugh.

“Look at—Look at you?!” she said and he was laughing, “I have read those journals, you know!”

“I know, you little trespasser,” the clown said and then looked as if something clicked in his head, “Ooooh! Is that why you were named Tressa?” 

Tressa blew a raspberry under her mask as she plopped her chin back in her hand, but then she noticed Kor approaching. 

He looked a bit worried himself, and clearly had something to say. 

“What is it?” Tressa asked as he approached. 

“The horses,” he said.

“Huh?” Tressa responded. 

“Our horses?” he repeated, “The whole, I almost bled to death thing, kind of took the reigns....”

“Oh,” Tressa then replied, sounding not too worried about this subject, “Shadowmere will be fine.” 

Cicero nodded. 

“Snowberry…,” Kor reminded. 

Tressa shrugged but Cicero replied to him.

“She's probably trotting to the nearest stable to her. Sturdy thing will be fine,” he said, “….or a feeding a sabre cat.”

Kor looked a little upset at that remark. 

“Oh, don't say that…,” the Nord said, “I thought you liked her.”

“I do,” the jester nodded, “Very pretty. Very cute. Maybe substance now for even cuter sabre kittens.”

Kor shook his head and looked to Tressa again. Not that her pensive pose wasn't telling enough, but maybe the Nord was starting to see just a bit under that mask too.

“You alright, Rockhead?” he asked.

Before Tressa could reply anything, there was a sudden crack of unnatural sound and light. 

From the very spot down below that they had boomed and flashed into the Sanctuary with. 

And a voice was heard.

Commanding. 

“Kill them all. Destroy the corpse.”


	14. How Fast It Can Crumble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Quick A/N: So, there was so much more I was going to do and pan out in this chapter, but I am a very time constrained, stupid adult…..so….Yeah. While this happening is a rushed event within the story, it's more rushed than I really wanted, but I'm just going with it.]

Chapter 14: How Fast It Can Crumble

“Kill them all. Destroy the corpse.”

Tressa and Cicero immediately hopped up from where they sat upon the stoop of the sarcophagus.

The two of them, and Kor as well, peeked through the bars that acted as a barrier overlooking the commons below. 

In a glimpse, they spotted what had to have been a hundred people—mages and also warriors and even what appeared to be daedric creatures. It was a battalion.

This breach was clearly intended for a massacre.

Nazir had been at the cooking station when the break in occurred.   
Tressa saw him toss the contents of the boiling hot pot directly into the face of the closest target and then flee into the nearby hallway.

Tressa then stepped back with Cicero, as the jester furthered back towards the sarcophagus.

“What do we do?” the girl found herself blurting out to him. 

“Protect the Night Mother,” he said, reciting their duty.  
His eyes watched Kor; however, as Kor had suddenly rushed to the far wall. 

The Nord grabbed a sword and mace off the weapons rack, after realizing himself unarmed, and had appeared to be heading back for Tressa. 

She wasn't reacting, and Cicero had nearly made a move to defend her when Kor turned his back to her and spoke. 

“Stay behind me,” he told her, “Charge that spell.”

“What?” Tressa responded. She sounded distant.

Kor turned a bit to look at her.

“Tress, get out of that rockhead,” he said, “That big spell. For that big onslaught. Hurry. While your meat shield has all his meat.”

Tressa seemed to pull into focus a bit. 

“Kor, it could kill--"

“They're coming up the stairs!” he warned.

A couple warriors rounded the top first.

They wore plated armor, bearing the symbol of the mages, and their weapons faintly glowed with enchantment. 

One dual wielded swords as the other held sword and shield. 

They eyed Kor as he stood at ready; one taking notice of the Night Mother's sarcophagus behind him and then initiating their charge after an alert if its location. 

Kor proved a sturdy defense as he knocked the shield out of the first chargers hands with a hard blow of his mace, causing the man to stumble off his feet as well. 

The other charger was directly behind, and having not expected Kor's quick take down of the front runner, he allowed himself to be distracted and provided Kor the opportunity to run his sword under the chest plate.

The warrior fell, writhing as he succumbed to the wound. 

Kor had suddenly felt a searing pain slash into his calf. 

The shield runner was scrambling to get back to his feet and had slash the Nord with his sword while trying so. The cut burned furiously, as the blade had been enchanted with fire magic. 

Kor hissed and was preparing to kick the man down again, but Tressa did that herself with a hard hit to his armored head. 

The rattle of the kick must have dazed him and Tressa yanked from him his helmet, the headpiece taking his neck guard with it, and slit his throat with her dagger. 

Kor gave her a smile and thanked her through a hiss of pain as his leg wound burned. 

“Thanks,” he said but then urged her behind him again, “But, hurry, charge that zap...I'm going to be down a leg again, c'mon.”

Tressa instead sent an ice spike through the bars towards more incoming enemies running up the top of the stairs. Mages. The ice spike shattered on a ward, but Cicero then jugular shot that mage with a throwing knife he kept in his boot. 

The other mage was trying to use the pillar at the top of the stairs as a shield, but he was suddenly rushed from behind by a quick figure dashing out from the entrance area leading to the suspension bridge. 

It was Tsuni. 

Not only did she sink her daggers into the mage's most vital areas upon his back, the Khajiit also sank her teeth through his neck like a wild sabre cat.

She snapped his neck with a hard crunch of her jaw and twist of the head; her ears flat and pupils fixed in bloodlust.

She dropped him dead upon the floor and maneuvered quickly to her comrades, having seen more enemies heading up the stairs.

Kor scooped up the fallen shield of the calf cutter and took one of the enchanted blades upon the ground as his own. He kicked another to Cicero. The Nord looked to Tressa again. 

“What are you doing, Tress? Charge your spell! I don't want to pay arm, leg, and life over nothing.”

Even with all that cover on, it was obvious she was in turmoil with this, glancing their enclosed space and concerned with what the outcome was going to be. She looked to Cicero.

Quickly realizing she wanted his yes or no of the matter, he answered: “Do what you have to, my Listener. What's one more shocking event today?” 

She laughed a little, but the hesitance was still evident.

“Tressa,” the jester called her attention back to him.   
He nodded when she looked back upon him, “…Just try to aim away from Mother, would you?”

She nodded back to him and began charging her spell.

More enemies had come up the stairs and were continuing to do so.

Tsuni and Kor readied to defend, but a large crack and strike of chain lightning exploded from below and up the steps, bringing down a few warriors and penetrating through some of the mage's wards.

Weylen. 

They couldn't see him, but he was engaging the battle in the commons.   
Babette was with him, as shouts of warning rang out to avoid her vampiric drain.

But more enemies still filed up the stairs, as Weylen and Babette couldn't stop them all—hopefully they would survive the attention they did succeed away from the upper level. 

A frost atronach of Weylen's was summoned atop the stairs to blockade any further incomings, but it probably wouldn't hold long with the focused assault on it. 

Tsuni was holding her own with navigating around and dodging about to the mages already above, taking them out as quick as she could with daggers and teeth, even succeeding in instilling paralyzing fear in one as she crushed the face of another in her jaws. She then handled that one frozen in terror with quick work. 

Her heads-on and brutal approach also herded the remaining into Kor's reach as they tried to gain range from the Khajiit and her ferocity.  
The Nord had no trouble ending the physically fragile opponents once they stepped unwittingly near. 

The mages had hardly a chance to cast anything of use. Hopefully this gap of skill would stay widened.

The top was clear for the moment and Weylen's atronach was holding on, pushing the surge back down the stairs, but two flame atronachs were spotted hovering up and readying to cast--one through the bars directly to the group on the upper floor and the other at Weylen's frost atronach. 

Kor turned and shielded Tressa from the firebolts that were flung their way. 

Cicero was directly hit when it cast the explosive fire towards the sarcophagus; he had allowed himself to be the tomb's shield and had purposely moved in line of fire. 

“Cicero!” Tressa worriedly called, nearly halting the charge of her spell and noticeably losing some of that charge.

“Focus, Rockhead,” Kor insisted, “…Move back!”

He ushered her quickly to Cicero and the the Night Mother, managing to shield them all from another round of firebolts.

Cicero got back to his feet, singed and winded, but otherwise fine. The sneaky jester had ingested a vial of regenerative potion he had stowed in his satchel.

Tsuni had run up to them and then away, trying to pull attention to her as the atronach aiming for them amped up its flame, but it was not needed as the atronach suddenly fell, along with its twin, and exploded upon the ground below. Their conjurers had fallen.

But Weylen's own atronach broke to pieces too. 

Hopefully to damage and not Weylen's death, but its demise opened the stairs to another surge. 

“Shit,” Kor cursed, “Here they come again.”

He and Tsuni moved at ready, the Khajiit resuming her heads-on tactic and the Nord engaging warriors that pushed through, occasionally deflecting a spell tossed his way with his shield.

“Tress!” Kor called back to the Listener, “Are you ready? Could use the help! They're piling in.”

He and Tsuni were not going to be able to handle what was coming long. Even if there was a skill gap, numbers could easily overcome.

Tressa; however, was not ready to cast. 

In fact, she stopped charging her spell altogether. 

Her gaze was fixed to the bars, a snake-like daedric creature wrapped around them, its hooded neck—similar to a cobra—extending open with a hypnotic type effect. 

At the center of it, a large functioning eye with a fixed gaze upon Tressa.

The eye began closing, causing an effect that seemed to be willing Tressa down with it. 

Had it not been for Cicero, whatever the creature was attempting to do would have succeeded. 

The jester had been on the move to aid Kor and Tsuni but noticed the Listener &nbspand rounded back, shoving Tressa down to break her trance and rushing the snake with the enchanted blade Kor had given him. 

Piercing the sword directly into the eye of the creature, not only was this already an apparent vital spot, the shock enchantment upon this blade ravaged the creature until it was nothing but a disintegrating husk, returning it to Oblivion. 

Two more suddenly scaled the wall and wrapped themselves among the bars, peering their hypnotic gazes on Cicero. 

The jester staggered for a moment, his focus drifting out, but then shook his head and laughed.

“Nice try,” he said, “But as you see, this noggin is noisy hahaha!”

The snakes quickly realized the folly in attempting this with him and instead went to snatch him in their jaws, but the agile clown avoided their strikes, albeit narrowly, and struck back. 

He quickly pierced and slashed their gazing eyes, sending them back to Oblivion just the same as their earlier brethren. 

The jester laughed and clanked the sword across the bars, goading more to come should they be below.

Instead of daedric snakes; however, he was met with an icy spear. 

Cicero barely managed to see it coming, but his near inhuman reflexes allowed him to dodge it. 

Not completely, unfortunately, as it tore through his bicep. 

He shouted in pain and dropped the sword, catching Tressa’s attention. 

She had been recharging her spell but relapsed for a moment when seeing Cicero clutch his bleeding arm.

She had begun to move towards him when he waved her off. 

“No. Your zap!” he said, scooting away from the bars out of sight of his attacker. His movement was visibly sluggish due to the icy damage seemingly seeping into all his muscles. 

“Charge your damn zap, Listener!” he insisted, “Don't waste magicka on that pre-soiled, tattered linen bandage you call a heal! Zap these idiots before you have no one left to apply that tattered heal to!” 

He knew she was in her head with worry. She had to snap out of it.  
Perhaps she was hoping that they could in fact fend off all these foes themselves, without her needing to risk killing one or all of their own. 

They had been holding off well, but Kor and Tsuni could be overwhelmed any moment. Cicero knew how fast the upper hand could change.   
Weylen might be dead below. Babette too. Nazir as well. And they haven't seen nor heard a sign from their archer, Aphid.   
Which would mean only four of them left to fend off the numbers coming up. Four.   
A slinky Khajiit that could only slink around so many before they would surely get her, a Nord that would only be able to push back so many before they push over him, a jester that currently had his funny bones frozen, and only one mage currently locked in a spell.

“Stop stalling!” Cicero now barked demandingly at Tressa, “Kill them. Kill us all. Cicero doesn't care. Just don't let them kill us. Do it already! You let them get to Mother and I will haunt you relentlessly on end….Reminding you what a failure you were to the only friends you've ever had."

That last comment struck a cord, and from the way she tensed, it was as if he physically struck her.

He knew her well enough now to know exactly what to say.

He'd apologize for preying on her insecurities, those damn insecurities of a supposedly coldblooded assassin, when this was all done. 

This was not the time. Nor was it the time to give her a lesson about time and not wasting it, but his comment seemed to do the trick. 

She resumed her charge just as another round of chain lightning from below aided in taking a couple of attackers off the stairs. Weylen still lived. Good.

Cicero chanced a look through the bars and saw him rotating and casting spell after spell, even whilst drinking an array of potions strung about a necklace.

The old mage was quite proving his experience, but he was a bit backed into a corner towards the hall entrance—a route that could also lead up top to them, but Weylen had it blocked by a storm atronach that also aided in his battle. 

Nazir was knelt to the side of the atronach, using what appeared to be the staff of a fallen mage to cast explosive fire back to their enemies—Cicero wanted that. 

Cicero didn't see Babette. Not until he looked a bit more directly below and saw her in front of the torture chamber's entrance, guarded by a wall of undead mages she had willed to her command. Cicero hadn't known she could do that, but was it ever useful for that little old runt. The undead mages even fought back against their former allies; Babette used a couple to help flush the stairs. 

Perhaps maybe they could win this without a shock; how shocking. 

“ARGH!” 

Or maybe not. 

Cicero turned his attention to Kor, who had been pierced through his side by an arrow. It stuck clean through, but luckily through no vital organ.

But Tressa had no choice but to drop her charge yet again to prevent Kor from having his head lobbed off while he was doubled over from pain.

She hit a few close attackers with ice spikes while Cicero rushed in, frozen muscles be damned, and slashed the guts of any who had not fallen. 

Kor regained himself and snapped the end of the arrow shaft so he could pull the arrowhead end out cleanly. 

“Aaaaargh, Gods, that hurts,” he groaned in pain. He noticed Tressa's hand up towards him and shook his head.

“What are you doing? No!” he said, exasperated, “Charge your zap! Gods, what is with you, Tressa?”

Cicero rounded back to them and thumped Tressa on the mask where her nose should be.

“Listener, if I gotta slap you to your senses, I will,” he warned. 

A loud noise had chimed nearby towards the sarcophagus.

A large frost atronach spawned from a mage's summon. It was not Weylen's.

“No! No, no, no, no!” Cicero shouted as he saw it turn its attention towards the Night Mother's tomb. 

An explosive blast of fire hit Kor's shield and caught Cicero’s eye. Someone else had a firebolt staff. 

“Yes!” the jester smiled wickedly, “Yes, yes, yes, yes!” 

He saw the mage that held it and pushed upon Kor.

“Get me close to him. Hurry!” Cicero urged, standing behind and pushing upon Kor to get him close.   
Tressa had almost begun moving towards the atronach with her own fire, but Cicero tugged her back behind Kor and boxed her arm.

“Don't make me even say it again!” he practically scolded, “For Sithis' sake, Listener!” 

Tressa didn't vocally respond, but she did begin recharging her big spell. She moved with them as Kor shielded them and fought through towards the mage Cicero wanted.  
Tsuni was still ferociously aiding the fight as well, even with wounds accumulating from unavoidable hits and spells. The Khajiit was relentless for sure.

Cicero put his attention back on the atronach and tossed a fallen weapon at it to pull its attention away from Mother’s tomb. It worked, as the atronach turned its hulking frame towards them and began stomping their way.

Kor had gotten them close enough now to the mage with the firestaff, and Cicero darted under Kor's shield, stabbing wildly with his dagger into the mage before he could send another firebolt from his staff or spell from his hand. 

Once the mage fell dead, Cicero obtained the staff, testing its power on the next enemy closest to them—directly to the face. 

The jester cackled with delight and quickly turned back to the atronach stamping closer, nearly atop them.

He fired off the firebolts rapidly from the staff; his concentrated mark shattering the clubbed arm it was lifting to smash them with. 

Cicero cackled with even more delight, immediately firing the hits at its core. 

The atronach stumbled back and quickly took a jab at him with it's spiked arm.

Cicero’s quick reaction saved him from becoming impaled by shattering the tip of the spike with the rapidly firing firebolts; however, the now blunted end still knocked him harshly back and he collided with a couple of the enemies. 

Tsuni quickly pounced upon the couple of mages that were scrambling to get back up, but the warrior Cicero was laid atop of locked him in place with one arm and reached for the sword on the ground beside to end him with.

Cicero attempted to twist out of the hold, but he was winded terribly from the atronach’s hit and couldn't seem to muster strength to wiggle out. 

He went limp instead after a brief squirming about.

“At least…,” he muttered out, out of breath, “I die in such a warm embrace.”

The warrior gripped the sword and was turning it about to stab the clown through the side, but he had failed to notice the wriggling the jester had managed was to aim that explosive staff at a very vital region.

The jester made one more joke before the discharge.

“Seems my staff heated your shaft, love,” he said and the warrior actually paused to give a strange brow.

An explosive firebolt erupted directly onto the warrior's private region, causing him agonizing pain and shock. 

The jester was freed of the grip and quickly got to his feet, avoiding the heat and holding his gut as he stood, regaining the air that was knocked from him, and then shook it off with a literal shake of his head and torso. 

He had then mercilessly jammed the end of the staff down the warrior's mouth and throat, as the man had been screaming in agony.   
The forceful jamming of the staff choked and crushed his airway all the same and Cicero took aim with the other end back at the atronach, as if the warrior was merely a cannon stand now. 

Kor and Tressa were dodging its swinging arm, and the continuous spells from mages Tsuni hadn't dispatched yet, with Tressa trying to balance a fire spell upon the atronach with one hand while still charging her zap with the other. 

Cicero relieved her and Kor by sending more rapid, explosive firebolts upon the atronach and shattering it at its core. 

He saw Kor give him a victorious smile, but then noticed the Nord look behind him and pale. 

Kor bolted forward just as Cicero was turning around to defend himself, the Nord beating the jester to the punch quite literally as Kor knocked another warrior down with a shield bash.

Just a bit behind the warrior was Aphid, quickly lowering his aim.

“Kor! What are you doing?!” he snapped, “…I could've put an arrow in your head!”

“I think you already nicked me, trueshot!” Kor snapped back, gesturing at his wounded side and then stabbing through the warrior he had knocked down. 

Aphid started to scold him further but took notice of the mages aiming to blast his brother. 

Aphid took aim and sent that single arrow clean through the neck of one and into the temple of the other. 

He put his eyes back on Kor to say something but was hit with a spell from behind, knocking him down.

Kor almost rushed to stand guard over his brother, but Aphid quickly rolled and head shot the aggressor.  
The older brother scooted along the ground on his back, quickly reloading and firing his crossbow into the oncoming enemies. 

He got to Kor and the younger brother helped him to his feet with a smile, but Aphid simply knocked him with his elbow once on his feet and readied his weapon. 

Now with the marksman there, the range gap was filled and Tsuni had loads of pressure off her as Aphid took down mage after mage, even a couple of warriors before they had chance to reach Kor and them. 

Only a mage here or there took more than one shot, as they shot down the first arrow or two, but Aphid's supernatural like skill was proving quite masterful. 

Tsuni took advantage of the focus away from her and snagged distracted victims. 

Kor still guarded Tressa, and now Aphid too, while Cicero hung around the bars, &nbspdangling overhead of the floor below, and firing the firebolt staff at enemies down there—mostly those trying to come up the stairs. 

The jester then spotted a particularly familiar mage engaging in a spell lock with Weylen in the far corner. 

The Peckerhead. 

His back was turned, but the jester knew it was him. Knew it was the same back the clown had tried to sneak up on at Pavo's. 

Cicero immediately cast three rapid firebolts directly onto the mage's back. 

They exploded loudly and brilliantly and Cicero cackled in delight….until an icy spear came hurtling from the smoke in his direction. 

The jester was impaled through the shoulder of the arm that clung him on the outside of the bars making him to let go and drop onto the floor below. 

His body and head hit the ground, causing him to become terribly dazed, but through the high pitched ringing in his skull and muffled chaos around him, he heard Tressa shout worriedly after him.

She better still be charging that spell.

Cicero’s vision was blurry and pulsing, but he could make out the enemies around him about to take advantage of his stupor and end him.

He knew he still clutched the staff in his hand, but his mind couldn't even figure out which hand---and was he laughing or was it that ever present jolly giggle in his head? Annoying. He needed to focus. Not laugh. Focus. Stop laughing.

He felt something clutch his ankle. Or arm? The hair of his head? Gods, did his brains spill out? His mind certainly seemed literally everywhere. Tressa would surely laugh at the head injured karma, if the upper hand wasn't switching hold now. 

Something had indeed grabbed ahold of him and yanked him across the floor. 

The jester only had enough time to be angry that he'd die because of the damn Peckerhead before he realized he wasn't about to die—yet, at least. 

Babette's nearly glowing, crimson eyes stared into his as he realized her undead mages had pulled him behind their little barricade. 

The jester smiled a wobbly smile.

“Thanks, Babs,” he said, his voice probably as wobbly as his smile and brain. 

The unchild gave a one sided smirk, a fang protruded from under her upper lip.

“You're welcome, Cissy,” she replied smartly with a pinch and jiggle of the side of his face.

Cicero hated when she used that name, but it was all's fair. She hated Babs…and she did just save his life. 

At least he was coherent enough to realize that.

He attempted to get up, but his legs weren't quite receiving the signals properly and he slumped quickly down. Dear Dread Father, he hoped this battered brain wasn't permanent. 

Babette fumbled around her pockets and satchel, but didn't seem to find what she was looking for.

“Damn,” she cursed, “Out of on-hand potions….How's my alchemy station up top anyway?”

“…huh?” Cicero’s mind took a moment to register the question, “Ah. Trampled.”

Babette didn't reply, but simply stared at him. 

Cicero focused his eyes a bit more on her to see her hard stare. 

The jester tilted his head slightly.

“Cicero is making words with his mouth, right?” he asked.

“Yes, sorry,” the little vampire replied, “I had a bit of an annoyed moment.”

“I didn't do it!” Cicero defended, “Blame these ars--HO-OW! QUIT IT!” 

Another icy spear had penetrated through one of the undead and into Cicero's already once penetrated shoulder. 

The clown angrily slung the spear out of him and growled furiously. 

Babette grabbed hold of Cicero and urged him to move with her further back.

“C'mon! Move! Move!” she urgently insisted, “Hurry!”

Just as they moved back further into the short hall, a volley of icy spears pin cushioned Babette's undead barricade and dropped the undead into a permanent state of dead. 

“Enough!” the peckerhead's voice was heard, “Seems I foolishly underestimated the skill, and trickery, of you lot…This ends n--?”

He didn't finish his sentence as suddenly an eruption of chaos exploded from the upper level and traveled what seemed like everywhere.

Tressa must have completed her charge and released her zap.

The explosive noise and sounds of screams and what must have been bodies being ripped apart rang out everywhere. 

The destructive bolts and balls of zaps even tore through the hall Cicero and Babette were ducked in.

Miraculously, the deadly attack narrowly missed them as it exploded and ripped all around. 

It seemed like the chaotic storm was lasting forever, but it probably ended rather quickly in reality. 

As soon as he realized it was over, Cicero scrambled to his feet and stumbled to look out into the commons. Babette rushed to his side and helped hold him up.

A quick look, even with Cicero's blurred vision, revealed a success. 

The jester looked up towards the bars to see the fuzzy make of Tressa looking down towards them, but he noticed the quick move of her head, indicating she saw something towards the center of the commons. 

Cicero looked out towards the rest of the commons again. 

He saw that damned Peckerhead. 

The mage was pushing himself up, and appeared to be quickly healing torn bits of himself as he stood.

The bastard must have managed to absorb Tressa's spell when it found him, revitalizing his magicka, and now he was readying to go anew.

Cicero's focus caught a glimpse of Weylen sluggishly moving as he laid upon the ground. 

He was terribly wounded, not by the zap, but having been downed by the peckerhead before the zap.   
Weylen was fumbling through his mostly empty potion vials, quickly trying to restore his own magicka.

Nazir was no where to be seen. Either torn apart by the zap or ducked into the far hall. 

The peckerhead stood fully, healed and turning to face Weylen with an icy spear.

Cicero reacted to send a firebolt towards the peckerhead but realized he had dropped the staff at some point. 

He attempted to rush him with a dagger, but his legs still couldn't receive proper signal.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the blur of Tsuni bounding down and towards the mage, but the peckerhead turned on her and suddenly nailed both her thighs with icy spears. 

The Khajiit fell to the ground, but to her tenacity, she continued to crawl towards him.

The peckerhead laughed.

“Really?...You all are a hardy bunch, but it seems I could have done this all myself?” he said, cocky. 

A firebolt suddenly burst from the far hall, Nazir was still alive and with his staff, but the mage sent his own conjuring of a firebolt back quickly. The collision of fire canceled each other, but the mage was sure to send a spear through the smoke and nailed Nazir through the forearm, causing him to drop the staff.

The peckerhead then sadistically sent a spear through Weylen's hand, shattering the vial he had found and tearing the old mage's hand nearly vertically in half. 

The peckerhead was enjoying this and laughingly sent a volley of spears towards the bars above, towards Tressa.

Kor suddenly appeared and had placed the shield in front of her.

Cicero's vision was blurring in and out, but he swore he saw Aphid by them as well, but he must have quickly backed out of view. If that was him, perhaps he'd take shot at the mage.

Kor had moved his body behind Tressa, but still held the shield in front of her. 

Cicero realized something was hurtling towards him and Babette, and despite his dazed state, he quickly registered the firebolt and jolted to the side, flinging the unchild back into the hall so she wasn't hit. A vampire doesn't handle fire well. 

“My you're spry for an old joke,” the peckerhead remarked.

Cicero stumbled a bit and unsheathed his dagger. The peckerhead noticed his wobbly state as he did.

“Aw, did that fall earlier knock you even more loose?” he asked, “Is your brain jiggling around in that skull like those jiggling little bells you jester's usually wear upon the ends of your cap?”

Cicero, probably against better judgement, decided to simply start stumbling towards the mage. 

“Cicero! What are you doing? Wait!” Tressa called out.

“I'm gonna cut his tongue out,” the jester replied.

Of course, the peckerhead laughed and put his hands to his hips as if no consequence awaited him.

“Well, look at you!” he said, “You really are funny, after all!...Come on, then.”

The peckerhead leaned a bit forward and tauntingly stuck out his tongue.

Cicero suddenly wound up his good shoulder to throw his dagger, but suddenly the Sanctuary itself rumbled and shook. 

Before anyone could really even react to it, a large chunk of the rocky ceiling fell…..directly upon the head of that peckerhead.

The mage was instantly downed to the floor, his head crushed beneath the rock. 

There seemed to be an awkward moment stilled in pause and silence, but then Cicero laughed uncontrollably before growling in utter frustration.

“Damn it, I wanted to kill him!” he stamped and wobbled. He wobbled yet again when the Sanctuary began continuously shaking. 

“What's happening?” Tressa questioned. 

More chunks of ceiling collapsing and a large crack widening down a wall answered it , surely, but Cicero still replied.

“The Sanctuary is…oh nooo, no no no! It's falling apaaaart!” he whined, barely avoiding getting smashed by a chunk of ceiling. 

Weylen was on his feet, healing his hand and downing a couple of vials of potions he finally found, and began moving towards Cicero. Nazir was right behind, clasping his bleeding forearm.

Weylen began shoving and pulling the stumbly Cicero along while motioning for Babette to follow.

“Move. Let's go,” the mage urged, “Out of here now. Heal you later.”

Nazir scooped up Tsuni just before she was struck with rubble and carried her over his shoulder as they fled up the stairs.

“Mother!” Cicero shouted, “We have to move Mother!”

But the doorway leading towards the front exit of the Sanctuary showed the room beyond had already collapsed enough to block any timely escape, and the commons still continued to break apart. 

Any moment could prove them crushed where they stood, too.

“The, the damn--,” Tressa fumbled to speak, “The scrolls! Where--"

Cicero began to disagree, seeing as he had suspicions to how the little brigade got in.

“I don't think we should--" 

“You got a better idea, Jinglebrain?” Nazir interrupted, “Huddle our bodies around the Night Mother? Maybe someone will unbury her from our corpses and rubble and keep the Brotherhood going?”

“Where are the scrolls?” Tressa asked, “Are we trapped anyway?”

Cicero patted his torso and reached within the inside of his coat, finding the scrolls tucked within. 

“Fine. Here. Hurry,” he said and tossed it to Tressa, nearly missing the mark due to his daze and the shake of the Sanctuary. 

“Wait, where--,” she started to ask just exactly where she was to transport them all, but bits of debris began to shake down atop them and dinging the sarcophagus. 

“Anywhere but here! Hurry!” Cicero replied.

“Do we link arms again or--"

“Tressa…now or never!” 

Tressa clutched the scroll, and with a quick and final look of their home, she backpedaled and sighed regretfully with a slap of the scroll to the sarcophagus.

As it activated, everyone quickly gathered and gave a shove of the tomb into the vortex that whisked them away.

Their home; the last Sanctuary of Skyrim, possibly anywhere, crumbled.


	15. A Place to Call Mine

Chapter 15: A Place to Call Mine

The sarcophagus landed with a loud thud; Mother's children nearly falling atop of it as they pushed through the portal. 

There was a thick silence only penetrated by the whirling of the portal as it shrank into nothing, and the rumble and crashing of what had been their home; now left behind as an indistinguishable pile of rock.

Tressa pushed herself up from the slumped position she was in at the foot of the fallen sarcophagus, shoving back whoever had landed on her, and she quickly looked about. 

She hadn't even been sure what location came to her mind when she activated the scroll. 

It was Pavo's. 

Before she could even begin to degrade herself for what she felt like was another damn failure of hers, the sound of someone unsheathing a blade instantly silenced her self deprecating thoughts. 

Of course, she must have placed them right amongst more enemies—

No.

It was Cicero suddenly backing Aphid up against the cabin wall, threateningly holding the blade towards the tall Nord. 

Despite the nearly humorous size difference between the two, and the small man's wobbly state as well, the towering man quickly put his back to the wall and laid his hands flat against it, showing no ill interest in engaging the hostile jester coming at him.

Kor had attempted to move towards them in worry and defense of his brother, but Nazir suddenly withdrew his scimitar and stopped the boy in his tracks. The Redguard threatened the point of the blade at him, not allowing the boy to interfere. 

Questions from the others overlapped, but all demanding to know what was happening. 

The jester only questioned the lanky Nord.

“Why didn't you put an arrow through him, huh, Aphid?” Cicero demanded his own question at the Nord.

Before Aphid could even answer Cicero, the clown furiously questioned him again.

“Why didn't you take a shot at the mage? I saw you back away! Why didn't you shoot the damn mage? You were there…and then you weren't! What were you doing, hm?! Why di--” 

“Are you alright?” the tall Nord asked him calmly instead.

“Answer me,” the jester pressed, literally pressing his blade upon Aphid’s gut with threatening weight. 

The lanky one's brother pleaded over the threat of the Redguard.

“Cicero, wait! Don't!” Kor called out around Nazir.

“Kor. It's fine,” Aphid responded but kept his bold, yet still somehow calm gaze upon Cicero's wobbling stare, “…But something isn't fine with Cicero. Weylen,…are you available to--"

Cicero slashed his dagger across Aphid's abdomen, earning a startled gasp from the Nord--and everyone else--and the jester then pushed the very tip of the dagger into the deepest part of the wound. 

“Answer. Me,” the very serious clown demanded with a tone that meant it was the last time he was going to demand it. 

Weylen stood, having healed Tsuni's heavily damaged legs as they looked on at this interaction in great puzzlement and worry, and the mage stepped closer towards the clown and Aphid.

“Cicero, you certainly don't look well,” he began, “What is the matter--"

“Back off,” the jester warned without taking his eyes from Aphid or removing the threatening blade, and with a slight suspicious tone he added, “..Mage.”

Babette was the one to speak up now, rolling her eyes as if it was a non-issue. 

“He hit his head rather nastily upon the ground,” she said, giving explanation towards the jester’s behavior, “He's probably….Cissy, dear, you're probably a bit confused. Why don't you--"

The jester suddenly began pushing the dagger further into Aphid, who hissed a pained grunt and gripped the man's wrist.

“I was out of bolts…arrows,” Aphid finally answered him, “Cicero--.”

“There are arrows in the quiver upon your back,” Cicero snapped back.

“Because I picked them from the ground—what is this? None of us but a rock ended that mage--.”

“Where were you when they all arrived? Where did you get those scrolls?” the clown continued to question. 

“Weylen needs to attend to you. You're not making sen--"

“ANSWER ME!” the jester screeched angrily and attempted to stab the dagger into Aphid's chest in a mix of daze and fury. 

The Nord took the split second opening to defend himself as passively as he could, taking advantage of Cicero's unsteady state, turning the tables, and pinning him now to the cabin wall. 

He had the jester pinned belly flat and had also managed to pin his arms behind him, knocking the dagger from his hand. 

If Cicero's mind could send the proper signals, he probably could have wrangled right back out of this hold, but Aphid had him.

The clown was managing to connect a few kicks, but his brain was sent reeling when Aphid jabbed forcibly into the gapping shoulder wound; the wound of those earlier icy spears.

A ringing droned in the clown's ears as the excruciating pain locked his body and mind.

“I apologize,” he heard the archer say, “But you MUST let Weylen tend to you. You are not well.”

“Get. Off!” Cicero shouted, “How am I to know he won—”

Nazir was suddenly near Cicero's face and looking upon the jester's dark eyes, shifting the study from pupil to pupil. 

“What are you doing?!” the jester snapped at him, wondering why on Nirn he was no longer aiding him. 

“Buddy,” Nazir spoke firmly, “Yeah, you need to let Weylen tend to you….”

“Yes,” Weylen said as he approached, “Before such injuries become permanent.”

“I fell off a bridge and drowned and was just fine!” Cicero argued.

Nazir and Weylen looked upon his nonsense with even more conviction of his need for a heal. The mage began reaching out to hold the man's head.

“NO! IT'S A TRICK! ” the jester nearly screeched, managing to land a kick that hyperextended Aphid's knee and caused the Nord to reflexively jolt back enough for Cicero slip from him.   
The jester attempted to scoop up his dagger to do Gods know what further damage to this situation, but Nazir kicked him over and pinned him to the ground.

“Calm down, you foolish clown!” the Redguard insisted, holding the jester down by his wrists despite his own forearm bleeding profusely. He sat upon Cicero's legs by laying the weight of his hip across them and tried to talk the clown to what constituted as his senses.  
“Let Weylen put your mind back to its normal crazy,” the Redguard attempted to persuade him, “This crazy is where people get---Tressa?” 

Cicero twisted his head about to look where Nazir looked, to look to Tressa.

She had just smacked Kor's concerned reaching hand away, nearly unintentionally slicing him as she did with the dagger she held.

As she paced further away from them all, it was clear something was wrong. She was hyperventilating.

Nazir rose up a bit in concern and made the mistake of lifting his hip off Cicero. 

The wiry little jester actually managed to draw in his legs enough to double kick the Redguard off of him.

Nazir rebounded quickly, and nearly seized the clown again, but Cicero had found his dagger and gave a warning slash of the air towards the man… and anybody else thinking of nearing him again.

They kept their extremities at bay.   
No one was going to attempt to put their hands near the jester's flailing blade; most of them already had butchered appendages in need of healing.

Nazir did give the jester a very disapproving look, but waved him off and the clown was left to his wobbly scramble to Tressa. 

Weylen looked to Nazir with what seemed an expression of question. Silently asking if he should take down Cicero via a spell, but Nazir seemed fine with leaving Cicero be.  
At least for this moment he wasn't trying to gut and flay his Dark Siblings. 

Cicero approached Tressa as she had turned away from them all, pulling her hands towards her face. 

The jester staggered a bit to her left, his pulsing vision intensifying due to his hectic activity moments ago, but he regained his posture and reached out towards her.

He neared her side just as he realized she had unlatched her mask from under her hood and slid it up in an attempt to breathe out her panic. 

Cicero froze in place. 

She hadn't noticed him as she seemed entirely focused on steadying herself. 

He; however, through numerous blinks and attempts at focusing his vision, seemed to be noticing her. Realizing he was indeed seeing her maskless.

Of course, the fact he was seeing her—her, not the mask---jarred him for a moment, but he was seeing something else. Something that was bringing his unsteady eyes to desperate focus.

The her he was seeing could not be her. 

It wasn't her. No. 

No. No. No.

Cicero paled and stepped away to stagger back towards the others with a quickness.

They were right. His head was more scrambled than ever. 

He nearly stumbled into Weylen as the mage healed Nazir's arm.   
Weylen, like the others around him, looked at the jester in weary of his increasingly odd actions---even for a predictably unpredictable madman. 

“Fix it,” the jester conceded to the heal, his tone pleading but with defeat. 

Weylen simply nodded, and after tending Nazir, he placed his palms upon Cicero's temples and concentrated as if he was seeing and holding the brain itself in his hands. 

“Be still,” the Breton advised of Cicero's small bit of fidgeting, “Injuries of the brain are hard enough to heal, the least you can do is not jiggle it around.”

The jester steadied as much as he could and soon felt the steady come upon him.  
His vision cleared and focused, his throbbing skull ceased its pounding, and his mind formed together from its scrambled disorientation—at least to how well it was before the thwack upon the floor.   
Weylen wouldn't be able to repair the years of soaked in psychological scars, of course not, nor rid that jester's laugh.   
But once the clown felt his head was pieced together again, he turned to assist his Listener.

“ARGH! Ow!” the jester suddenly cried out in pain. 

Weylen had firmly grabbed him by his wounded shoulder and pulled him back.

“We're not done, mister Keeper,” the mage said, his tone making no effort to hide his growing impatience.

Cicero was impatient himself and slung his shoulder from the man. 

“Tend someone else,” the jester snipped, leaving the older man to his grumbling sigh and putting his focus on someone grateful for a heal. 

Cicero walked back to Tressa, who had by now recovered her face with her mask and had let Kor be near her again—even had let him carefully rest his hands upon her shoulders. 

He appeared to be trying to speak her down and attempting to get her to mimic his breathing, but Cicero could see her hands tightly gripped to her daggers, ready to plunge them into Kor's guts at any notice of something awry. 

Cicero arrived and ducked under Kor's arm to stand directly in front of Tressa. The clown urged the Nord to back up with a blatant push and then looked to the girl with a partial smile on his face. 

“Think Cicero did enough cutting up tonight, Listener,” he said, “All's fine.”

“All's fine?” she repeated and then gave a mocking tone, “…All's fine?!....Cicero, I just destroyed our Sanctuary…We were nearly massacred within our home,… again!... And then you--”

“We handled it pretty well, actually,” the jester replied of the Sanctuary, but it only served to upset her more.

“Oh, great! Yeah!” Tressa said, “So I collapsed the place for nothing!”

“No, that's not fair. We urg--"

“And we don't even know who they were or why! But YOU seem to think it's an inside job anyway. Guess it can't be an inside job anymore, if there's no inside!” she ranted and flailed her arms about in frustration.

“Listener, hey, geez!” Cicero grabbed her arms and attempted to simmer the situation, “Calm down--"

“Coming from you, stabby?!” she shoved him back.

“Hey!” the jester stumbled in surprise as Tressa continued on her rant, stomping towards the fallen sarcophagus of the Night Mother.

“And it does no good a Listener when a lazy corpse offers only cryptic messages to decipher or DOESN'T SPEAK AT ALL! You dead-dead now, Mother? Or catching up on some much needed beauty sleep, you decrepit--WAKE UP!” the raving Listener shouted angrily and kicked the tomb.

“HEY!!” the Keeper now shouted angrily himself.

Tressa remained tensed with her foot on the iron coffin until the jester moved towards her, prompting her to wisely step back and partially behind Nazir who was standing nearby. 

However, Cicero didn't bring any wrath upon her transgression--although the glare he tossed her moved her even further behind the Redguard--, but he instead opened the tomb to check upon the corpse’s condition.

The body was shifted slightly out of place from the jostling around, but after looking it over, the Keeper seemed content her condition was fine and shut the tomb.

“Her body is as pristine as it can be, my Listener,” he said, “Nothing should be stopping her from--"

“So she's choosing not to speak, then?” Tressa replied, the exasperation returning. 

Cicero sat back on his heels and shook his head. 

“I don't know, my Listener,” he responded, “It's poss--"

“Ha. Listener. Pah,” Tressa cut him off with her continuing spat, “What if that has indeed been revoked from me. What if all this was another purification!”

Cicero hopped up and clapped his hands towards her. 

“Hey. Enough,” he said, “There'd be no doubt if it was….But after your disrespect towards her moments ago, perhaps one is coming. Breathe in, Listener. Breathe out….but you show such insolence towards her again and Cicero will not let it slide next time…Now I was going to say it's possi--.”

Nazir had suddenly cut him off now.

“Hold on, one moment,” he said, holding up his hand towards the clown, “Speaking of not letting it slide…”

The Redguard abruptly socked Cicero hard in the face, even knocking the smaller man down with the force of it. 

“That's for your transgressions towards your siblings, fool,” Nazir explained as he rubbed his knuckles.

There was a small silence as the clown lay stiff on the ground for an awkward moment, either temporarily knocked out of his senses again or simply registering what in the world just happened.

After the awkward moment, he pushed himself half up, resting on his hip as he rubbed and popped his jaw back in place. A pained groan escaped him.

“Yeah, alright,” he groaned, “That was warranted…..But Mother's tit, what happened to your gold penalty, huh?”

“Figured the chunk you needed is under rock now,” Nazir explained, though his tone was a bit steeped with satisfaction, “Afraid I have to default to the old fashioned methods for the time being.”

Cicero stood up and rolled his neck, noticeably wincing about his increasingly sore shoulder wound… but still sarcastically remarking upon Nazir's comment. 

“Sure you are….Shakin' in your boots, I bet,” he said to which Nazir suddenly gripped and roughly squeezed that shoulder wound. 

“HEY! OW! OW-OW-OW! STOP! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!” Cicero crumbled to the ground again, but the Redguard kept his grip and kept squeezing on.

“Oh, you thought we were done?” Nazir replied calmly, “After that attempted murder of a tantrum earlier?”

Aphid was now the one to speak up.

“I'd hate to interrupt you, Nazir,” he said as he stepped away from Weylen who had just healed the slash across his abdomen, “And correct me if I'm wrong, but it did seemed you were in some sort of agreeance with him…at least for a moment.”

Nazir gave a nodding sigh and responded, though he kept his squeezing hand on Cicero.

“Yes, it's true. I was,” the Redguard explained over the jester's squeaking demands to be let go, “…There was…some suspicions in the air….and when I didn't see you amongst the fight, I figured Cicero must have seen something I did not. He has an eye, I must admit, for the real trespassers of our Brotherhood. And I also must admit…that I..…trust….him….But as I now know, he was just simply out of his head. Right, you rattled-brain fool?” 

“Y-yes, Gods. Let go!...Let go-let-go-let-go,” Cicero replied, vainly pushing on Nazir's arm. 

The jester growled an impatient tune, “Bruised brain. Went insane, but I take the blame. Sorry I must exclaim.” 

“Let me readjust my aim,” Nazir added, digging his thumb into the clown's wound. 

“Aai! Stop it! Cicero's sorry, alright?! I am! Truly! Sorry! Alright?!” 

“Alright,” Nazir finally released his shoulder much to the jester's relief, but the Redguard gave him a hard slap on the back of the head before finally leaving him be.

Cicero muttered something inaudible under his breath as he readjusted his cap and carefully rolled his now throbbing shoulder. 

A hand extended down, causing the jester to wince with a yip, expecting it to be Nazir's returning grip, but it wasn't.

It was Aphid's hand extending in offer to help the clown to his feet.

Cicero took his offer, despite visibly looking a bit offput by it, but he stood with a thank you.

He then tried to turn his attentions on where Tressa went off to, but Aphid pulled him back into conversation. 

Not physically, thankfully, as everyone else kept doing to the poor fool, but by question.

“If you don't mind me asking,” the lanky Nord said, “…..Me? Really? The archer in cahoots with a gaggle of mages? I believe the target your aim should have been on first, if anyone, would be Weylen….No offense, Weylen.”

“Hmm?” they heard Weylen’s disinterested response. He was knelt down on the opposite side the sarcophagus offering any mending services to Tressa, as she was seated on the ground with her back to the tomb. Kor was seated next to her as well.

“None taken,” Weylen responded and mumbled, “Whatever was said…”

He put his attention back to Tressa who appeared to decline him with a headshake, so he moved to Kor who allowed his mending as the boy and Tressa quietly chatted with each other.

Both Aphid and Cicero seemed slightly interested in what the two were discussing, but Aphid then renewed his own conversation with the jester. 

“They almost killed my little brother,” he said, “….And you saw my arrows pierce their skulls. What in Nirn could I have done to garner suspicion? ….So, you know, I could…not do that again.”

Cicero was semi-focused on Aphid, as his gaze kept drawing towards Tressa and Kor, but he replied to the tall man. 

“Cicero was bounced out of his head,” he said and apologized again, “I am sorry.”

“Yes, but you even bounced into someone else's head before that tumble…,” Aphid replied and referenced Nazir.

Cicero sighed with a nod and put his attention on Aphid fully.

“….The scrolls,” he said. 

“….Ah, yes,” Aphid nodded and repeated, “…The scrolls….Tampered with, you believe. I got them from some wandering trader, though, remember?” 

“Yes, Cicero remembers,” the jester replied, “….Do you remember what he looked like?”

“Well, he wasn't displaying those robes and proudly selling me on the death of my comrades,” the Nord shrugged, “….He looked like a typical merchant. Possibly Breton or Imperial, but nothing noteworthy. Sorry.”

Cicero nodded his head in understanding, but furrowed his brows. 

“Was he in Dawnstar?” he asked but they were suddenly interrupted by Weylen, who had sat on the edge of the sarcophagus facing them, fully delved in their conversation. 

“It's unlikely the trader himself was involved,” the aging mage said, “…The scroll was likely tainted the moment you used it. By that I mean, the mage probably saw his opportunity and took it.”

Weylen glanced over his shoulder at Tressa.

“So I wouldn't necessarily worry about them springing up on us again,” he said and turned back towards Cicero and Aphid. 

Cicero's expression turned stern on the man.

“……You understand the workings of scroll magic, then?” he asked.

“A bit, yes,” Weylen replied, “But not expertly. I haven't made a scroll myself since my early adulthood, so fret not your rekindling suspicions.…I'm only assuming the workings of this scroll predicament, because firstly, …how would that trader know who he was selling the scrolls to? And if he was staked right outside our home, figuring us out..….Why not summon their little army at our gate? No need for a middle man, or trader, in this case.”

“Breaching a Sanctuary wouldn't require a trader, no,” Cicero said, “But a traitor, yes. It's nearly impossible to break past our dark doors without someone holding it open.”

“And that someone?....Yes, yes. I know that eye. I would still suspect me too,” Weylen said, not beating around the bush, “.…..Or perhaps next the Khajiit that no one can find a fault in. …Or the shrouded girl who refuses to show herself and now has the destruction of two Sanctuaries under her reign.” 

Tressa's head whipped around towards that remark, but it was Cicero who seared his glare into Weylen and pointed with the intention to verbally skin him, perhaps physically as well as he had began to stomp towards him. 

Weylen, though, casually held up a hand. 

“I truly mean no disrespect,” he said, “My intention was merely to show how easy it is to hold suspicions and distract us….But none of us suspects hold water. Any of us could have held that door open….At any time, mind you. Why now? And why such an oddly roundabout way? Not to mention, we all fought back. That would be quite counterproductive of a traitor, yes? Especially of me. Healing you just to kill you?”

Cicero had stopped advancing towards him, but still questioned the man's sudden need to ward off the jester's suspicions.

“And why does this sound like--" Cicero began to say, but Weylen waved a hand. 

“Like a rabbit trying to escape the fox sniffing them out?” the older man nodded, “…..I'm old, Cicero. I've seen plenty of failings in my life. By others. By me. The worst failings are always betrayals…..And not planned by some traitor in the midst, but when seeds of doubt are sewn into one's own mind and it grows, festers, to destroy…...everything…..For nothing. The real enemy never had to lift a finger..….Your eyes, Cicero, are always at your back. Looking for that dagger in a friend's gentle pat. It will not be just your undoing, my friend…Heed that.”

Cicero did not look comfortable with this examination suddenly on himself.   
He opened his mouth to retort, but could not honestly rebuttal what Weylen had said. 

The mage then decided to offer his sage advice upon their Listener, too. 

“And you,” he said, “…..What are you so afraid--"

Cicero cut him off fast from chastising the girl, though.

“She's young, Weylen,” he said, “Her traumas have not callused, nor have they completely calloused her.”

It was Tressa that cut them both off now as she shot up and shot back. 

“I can answer him myself, Cicero,” she first bit into him, “I'm young, yes, okay, but I am not a child….”

Her masked face then set on Weylen as she seemed to want to spew a tirade upon him, but after a few seconds, she huffed and made a vague motion towards the jester…

“But yes, what he said,” she sighed and sat back down next to Kor, facing back away from the two older men. 

“….I don't…,” she spoke again, “….I don't want to lose what little hold I have in this life.”

“You will,” Weylen replied. 

“Weylen,” Cicero gave a warning tone, but Weylen deemed it necessary to finish saying what he had to say. 

“Fear, my Listener,” the mage explained, “….Fear is what you want to have a hold of.....But right now isn't the time for lessons, is it? Of controlling fears or helping you smooth out those shoddy spells either,… youngster.”

Nazir patted the mage on the shoulder while looking about. 

“Perhaps on another relaxing evening, eh,” the Redguard said, “…..So where exactly are we, my Listener? I don't mean to cause alarm, but….There seem to be quite a many corpses strewn about….”

“Kolskeggr Mine,” she answered, her tone was wavering back on downtrodden, “….We're not very far from Markarth. See the road beyond the river crossing out there? Leads to the city…..This is where we were when we were attacked; see the few mage corpses?...”

Babette chimed in.

“Why'd you--"

“I don't know,” Tressa immediately replied, knowing the question before it was asked, “…..I should have just ported us to…I don't know….But we're out in the open. We need to….move….Or perhaps stow away in the mine up there until—Ah, shit.”

“What?” Nazir questioned.

“The miners,” Tressa flung her hands out, “….I bet they've fled and….This place will probably be swarming with Markarth guards by morning….Or any moment…..Gods, I'm so--"

“Why would they care about some out of the way mine?” Kor asked. 

Tressa looked to him and then slung her head back with a sigh. 

“This is probably the richest gold mine in all of Skyrim, Kor,” she explained, sounding rather snippy, “It could be outside Riften, and Markarth’s hands would still be in it. I mean, of course, right? Stupid.”

She gave another annoyed sigh as she brought her knees up to rest her elbows upon and slung her head down into her hands. 

Her snippiness and insult seemed aimed at Kor, but it was actually aimed at herself. 

She felt the Nord lightly knock upon her head with his knuckles, and she looked up with the intention to apologize.

Kor wasn't dense about who the target of her frustration was, though, and offered a sympathetic smile….with a hint of cheekiness. 

“Would you like that lesson in hugging now?” he asked, the lens of the girl's mask looking at him in unreadable silence.

Her body gave a subtle twitch and then Kor heard a blow of air under her mask.

Then another, as it turned into a small chuckle that she was trying to fight. 

She shook her head and lightly patted the Nord on his arm.

“Not the time for lessons, right,” she said and began patting the tomb along its side, “….We gotta figure out just where Mother's going to lay her head tonight—GODSDAMMIT.”

Her shout startled everyone, as they looked to her and her continuing odd behavior as she scurried to the other side of Kor and plopped back into her withdrawn, defeated position. 

Kor began to slowly reach towards her again with a baffled “um..”, but she answered the bewilderment by pointing for him to look on the ground back on his other side. 

“Pavo…,” she said dolefully. 

Kor looked down at the forearm protruding out from under the heavy tomb that unfortunately rested on the crushed remains of the man's body. 

“Oh, ew!” he said and scooted nearly into Tressa as Cicero came around to see.

The jester cracked into laughter at the sight, despite what appeared to be an effort trying to withhold it, but his failure prompted Tressa to exclaim a scolding tone towards him.

“Why are you laughing?!” she said heatedly, “It's Pavo!”

Cicero waved his hand and tried to stifle his giggling, but it even bled through his words.

“I'm-I'm sorry,” he choked through the chuckles, “C-Cicero can't help it. You know that.”

Tressa shook her head in disappointment at first but did also give a slight nod….until Cicero made his next remark. 

“Pavo pancake,” the jester muttered and burst into laughter anew. 

“Cicero!” Tressa scolded, “By Gods! Really! Stop!”

Cicero clamped a hand over his mouth and motioned he was going to just walk away, to which he did.

But suddenly he stopped in his tracks, his laughter ceasing immediately, as his attention locked on to something in the distance. 

The sun had set by now and the moonlight was overcast, which made it hard to see what caught his attention even in the not too far distance, but Babette's night keen eyes and Tsuni's Khajiit vision saw what the jester was alerted to. 

The little vampire and the cat bolted towards what lurked in the dark, a noisy scramble and multiple gasps emitted as the two rushed in.

A sudden bright light exploded above the ruckus in the dark, as Weylen had cast magelight to illuminate the scene. 

It appeared to be a large group of miners, trying to sneak away, but they were cut off on their path to creep across the river rocks by a ferocious Khajiit. She blocked their route and bared her frightening fangs with an equally intimidating hiss.

Their attempt to turn tail back where they came was halted by the little girl, who at first was shielding her face from the awfully bright light above, but then revealed her bloodthirsty crimson eyes and a hiss of fangs equally as frightening as the Khajiit’s. 

And with the unsettling jester flanking their side, they knew they were all but boxed in. 

One of the miners dropped to their knees and immediately began pleading.

“Please, no,” he said, “Please. Let us go.” 

Cicero put a hand to his hip.

“And just where are you going, hmm?” he asked. 

“W-we won't tell anybody,” the miner said, “We w-won't tell anyone who y-you are. T-that you're here. We'll just go.” 

Of course. 

They had witnessed, and heard, everything. 

The Dark Brotherhood and its resting Mother stranded in the open night….

“No one's left already?” the jester genuinely questioned. 

“No,” the miner replied, “W-when we heard the commotion this morning….We thought,.. we thought the Forsworn had come again. We’ve holed ourselves up all….Afraid we'd r-run into waiting blades…Uh...N-no one knows anything's happened here. W-we can just go. A-a-and when we're a-asked, we can just indeed s-say it was the Forsworn. Yes.”

Nazir had approached by now and stood next to Cicero. 

The Redguard shook his head.

“Mmm. Mm.mm,” he hummed disapproval at this, “And still have a cavalry here? To reclaim their valuable mine?” 

The miner shook his head back.

“Markarth despises dealing with the Forsworn,” he said, “So much so that's….that's why Mr. Pavo had to hire all that protection himself. Those damn city guards will drag t-their feet a week.”

Nazir looked to Cicero as they seemed to exchange a quick communication purely through their eyes. 

The Redguard looked back to the miner. 

“And just how fast would they gallop here,” he asked, “…If they thought they had a chance to snuff out...,um,…let's say who you think we are.”

“W-we won't tell them,” the miner began pleading again, “Please. We won't. And maybe t-they w-wouldn't even care about that either!”

“Maybe not…,” Nazir nodded and braced his chin in thought. 

Tsuni’s ferocity simmered, as she softly spoke up.

“Perhaps we'd be long away,” she said, “By the time any one was told anything.”

“Mmm, mm,” Nazir shook his head again, “We don't know quite… where we're awaying to, Tsuni. Cat and mouse might sound fun to you….but…”

“Not as fun when Tsuni's the mouse, no,” the Khajiit replied.

“Exactly,” Nazir nodded. 

The miners all grew even more terribly anxious.   
Afraid, knowing full well the answer these people were teetering on.

“Don't do this, please,” they begged, “Don't! No one will come! No one!” 

Nazir again looked to Cicero, their eyes conveying their thoughts, their decision, with silent communication. 

Kor was watching over his shoulder at this unfortunate event for the miners, as was Tressa, but the girl soon rested her head back in her hands. 

She sighed yet another sound of defeat, as she—as everyone—knew what the solution to this unfortunate circumstance would be.

Kor had felt like his sympathetic expression had been out of place amongst the steeled, and masked, faces until then.

But Tressa's mask certainly didn't hide all. 

Whether it be confliction or failure, she cradled her head between her arms as the sounds of decision were made. 

The unsheathing of weapons. The growl of a Khajiit. The hiss of a vampire. The pleas of defenseless innocents. 

“Don't do this! We're not some contracts. You can't do this, please! You do this, you're only cold-blooded murderers! Monsters! We have family! Children waiting! Please! NO!” 

Tressa quietly cursed herself as the begs turned to terror,… turned to shrieks,…turned to gruesome, untimely death cries. 

The masked girl was not innocent of taking innocent lives herself, but….

Kor glimpsed over his shoulder again towards the massacre, catching Weylen looking at Tressa as he still sat upon the sarcophagus.   
The man shook his head at her with a low sigh as he turned his undaunted stare back upon the brutal scene. 

“Calluses, my Listener,” the mage said and nothing more, though he did give another dissatisfied glance towards them when Kor rested a hand on the girl's shoulder. 

The screams ceased and the magelight snuffed out with the last breath of miners, leaving only the calm ambience of the river gently flowing and crickets softly chirping, unfazed in the dark stillness. 

Then another spark of light burst upon a torch held by Weylen, who had obtained it from its sconce on the cabin and lit it with spell flame. 

“I believe rain is coming,” he said, glancing the overcast moon dimly noticeable in sky, “The mine it is, then?”

“The mine it is then,” Nazir agreed, stepping into the fire light, “I'll go scope it out. Make sure there's not any other unfortunate souls waiting for Sithis in there. Tsuni? Might need your eyes.” 

The Khajiit nodded, though Weylen passed them his torch anyway. 

Babette joined the Redguard and Khajiit as they awayed up to the mine and Weylen lit another torch upon the cabin wall, slightly startling Aphid who had been leaning near it. 

Cicero stepped into view around the sarcophagus near Tressa. 

He had just finished wiping blood off his dagger and placing the weapon back in its home on his belt.   
His hand then went up to carefully squeeze upon his wounded shoulder as he opened his mouth to say something to Tressa, but instead, a pained squeak yelped out as Weylen had rounded behind him and slapped his hand down on the wound.

“Be still,” the mage replied unbothered by the jester's growls and the unsheathing of the dagger he had just sheathed, “I'm going to finish healing you whether I got to cause you more damage to do it or not.”

“F-fine,” Cicero conceded, though grumbling, and let the man finally fix his shoulder. 

“There, was that so bad?” Weylen finished, “Lucky it didn't set in.” 

“Mhmm,” the Imperial clown sarcastically replied, “Thank you, Mr. Mage.” 

The mage very roughly patted the man's thankfully now healed shoulder and looked to the sarcophagus. 

“Going to need you tip-top to help tote our dear, hefty mother,” he remarked. 

Tressa suddenly leaned up and looked at Weylen. 

“Why not just use telekinesis?” she asked, “I'm certain you’ve the skill and knowledge of it.”

Cicero suddenly answered instead.

“He’d get about fifteen feet before even his magicka goes caput,” he explained, “As heavy as it is….Cicero was lucky to even get loaded on a wagon with such a move.”

“Hooold on,” Tressa said in surprise, “Hold up….What?”

“Moving it magically is difficult?” Cicero restated, “Cicero nearly ended up like Pavo there trying to--"

“Wait. I have NEVER seen you do magic!” Tressa exclaimed with bafflement.

“Yes, you have,” he corrected, “All the time.”

“What?!”

“How do you think I juggle?” he said, “How could anyone do that WITHOUT magic?”

“WHAT?!” 

“What?” the jester shrugged. 

“You've never even mentioned this before!” Tressa ranted, “I’ve never…you…Just how much magic do you do; do you know?!”

“Not much,” he replied as if it were nothing but a casual conversation, “I mean, that's about it. Cicero’s not very inclined to it, even often forget being a doof I am, but I have a few tricks.”

“Exactly. How. Many,” Tressa pressed. 

“Keeping ‘em up my sleeves, my Listener,” he winked. 

She held her masked stare on him for a moment before giving a dismissive “puh".

“You're lying,” she said, “You don't have an ounce of magicka in you.”

Cicero unsheathed his dagger, held it out, and opened his hand. 

“No?” he said, as the weapon stayed put in the air.

Tressa bolted up with a sound of flabbergastion. 

She studied the floating blade before turning her head towards Weylen. 

“No, uh-uh,” she said, “Nope. YOU'RE doing this.” 

Suddenly Tressa's own daggers flew from their hilts and into Cicero's hands. 

“WHAT THE--"

The jester then began juggling the trio of blades. 

“Tricky, tricky, tricky,” he grinned, but then his smile dropped as he pulled his hands away, “Watch out!” 

The blades dropped to the ground as he proceeded to chuckle. 

“Oops, uh, out of magicka?” he shrugged and chuckled some more. 

Sounds of disbelief continued to muffle out from under the Listener's mask.

She kept turning her head between Cicero and Weylen, trying to figure out this big jest, but another ruckus in the dark around them snapped them all on alert once again. 

Tressa and Cicero scooped up their weapons from the ground, as Weylen, Kor, and Aphid hopped to attention as well. 

The heavy clopping of horse hooves bounded towards them in the dark.

Weylen cast his magelight once again to illuminate the riders daring a rush at them. 

But when the light flashed upon the scene, it revealed only two riderless horses. 

Shadowmere and Snowberry. 

The two beasts riled up in a startle at the burst of light, but then settled with mildly annoyed blows and snorts. 

“Snowberry!” Kor smiled in delight and ran to his horse.

“Well, look at that,” Cicero said, “Undigested. Sorry, sabre kitties, no supper tonight!” 

Kor probably intended to give the jester an unamused stare, but he still held his smile as he glanced to the fool and then back to his pretty mare.

“Ain't nothing eating you, Snowy-doey-eyes,” the Nord said sweetly to the horse as he gently patted her snout. 

The Nord's older brother stepped close. The lanky man giving his younger sibling an arched brow.

“Really?” Aphid teased, but gave a nodding shrug when Kor showcased an emphasis on Snowberry's beautiful face, “…Alright.”

Cicero and Tressa had come up to Shadowmere, with the jester giving the steed a playful rub on the nose. 

“Hey, buddy-boy,” he said, “Have a good day with the lady, eh?”

Shadowmere gave a blowing shake of his head as if he was indeed answering, and answering cheekily. 

“Uh huh, sure,” the clown replied cheekily as well.

Kor lit up a bit more with a laugh. 

“Aww, are we going to have a little Shadowberry?” he asked of his mare to which Cicero responded with a blow of air himself. 

“Puh, hope not,” he said, “Snowmere would be much cuter.”

“Only if it gets these beautiful eyes,” Kor retorted, only to hear Shadowmere give an agitated snort. 

“Uh..,” Kor stammered, “….The menacing glow of yours is good too….”

The dark horse seemed to give a less agitated snort at that and turned his head towards Tressa, giving what seemed to be a nicker of greeting. 

Tressa gave a small glance to the jester before reaching to pet Shadowmere on the snout.

She was unfortunately startled; however, by a shout from above, near the entrance of the mine. 

“ALL CLEAR!” the unchild's voice rang loud and high, followed by a mischievous giggle, knowing full well she startled the Listener. 

Tressa had recoiled her hand as if the noise had been Shadowmere attempting to chomp it off, but quickly realized what had happened and gave a growl as her lens moved up towards the little old devil. 

Nazir and Tsuni had joined behind her, as the Redguard restated what the unchild had, but without the shrill prank.

“All clear, my Listener,” he said, “…Oh good! The horses are just what we need. We found a load wagon just perfect to roll our Old Lady right up the path….Was afraid we'd have to use Kor as a mule…”

Kor didn't bother with a response, but he did give Aphid a roll of his eyes when he heard the brother mutter that he is a jackass. 

The horses were hitched and the wagon brought down to load the bulky iron tomb upon, everyone giving it a lift into the cart—save for the little vampire who insisted her small muscles would provide no extra support, despite her capabilities to take down full grown men. 

Her commentary certainly didn't support Tressa's morale either, as the unchild gave an “eew" to the rather squished body that had laid beneath.

“Sorry, Listener,” the vampire remarked, “…This squash plant caught me off gourd...”

An audible catch of his laugh was heard from Cicero, and although he had been the one to laugh and mock earlier, he turned on the unchild with a stern point up the hill.

“Go away, fainéant child, before you get in trouble,” he scolded and also gave Nazir an eye as the Redguard nearly slipped a laugh at her joke too.

Babette arched a brow at Cicero's terse demand and smirked a reply back.

“Did that knock to your head make you forget how old I am, boy?” she asked, “And in case you haven't noticed, there's not exactly a room to send me--"

Cicero gave a sharp cut of the air with his hand, like visibly cutting off her words before they reached Tressa.

“STOP!” he snapped.

Babette; however, shook her head. 

“So the Sanctuary is gone, so what?” she said, “We lost Falkreath, too, remember? And how many have you've seen the last of, Cissy? Hm? …And as always, the Brotherhood still stands. In fact, I wager this is probably the first time not a single sibling was lost in the process. My Listener…..Hear this from someone who has lost home, and people, for three hundred years….Take a win when you get one.”

Cicero's dangerous glare dwindled as Babette talked, as he did agree with her, but he also knew nothing ever felt like a win to the Listener.   
“What little hold she has” Tressa had said earlier that evening.  
Really, her hand only hovered over things she wanted to keep close, knowing if she grabbed ahold of it, it would be cruelly snatch back.   
Cicero knew that feeling, that cruelty, well.   
To hold the whole world in your arms…

“…..You're losing your touch, Cicero,” Tressa suddenly said. 

The jester turned his head to her in befuddlement.

“What?” he said. 

“Her joke was way better than yours,” she replied, “Guess Weylen didn't heal your funnybone.”

Cicero stared for a solid few seconds before narrowing his eyes and pointing both Tressa and Babette up the hill. 

“Get,” he said, “Imps. The both of you.”

After getting Mother into the mine, they decided to temporarily unload her to cargo the corpses outside into the depths of a deep mineshaft—so as not attract scavengers or other unwanted attention. 

“Has anyone checked the mages?” Aphid asked as he slung a robed corpse upon the wagon, “….to see if they possessed anything on their person that could possibly help tell us who they are?”

“Hadn't the time,” Cicero replied as he dragged a partially decapitated mercenary, “But good idea. Feel ‘em up!” 

Aphid gave that a look of unnecessary comment but proceeded to grab the lantern upon the wagon and hold it towards Kor, who sighed and dropped the corpses he carried to reluctantly hold the torchlight for his brother as he shuffled through the possessions of the mage bodies. 

Aphid didn't seem to be finding anything noteworthy, until he eventually pulled out what seemed to be an actual note.

“Another scroll?” he said and unfolded it, looking it over.

“Guys, hey,” he called, “Look.”

A magelight popped above Aphid, prompting the vampire nearby to look at their own mage with a small annoyed hiss.

“Apologies,” Weylen said, “My old eyes actually age, little elder, I wish to actually see what he has found.”

“A warning would be nice..,” the unchild muttered. 

“Is that a map?” Tressa asked of Aphid, noticeably standing on her toes to try and look closer upon the paper the tall Nord held in his hand. 

“Yes,” he replied, lowering the paper for the smaller folk, “It is. And it's marked.”

It was indeed a marked map, showing what appeared to be arrows on various routes that would lead to Dawnstar, but there seemed to be heavier lines….upon the route Tressa, Cicero, and Kor had been traveling before the attack at Pavo's. 

Cicero yanked the map from Aphid and looked upon it hard.

“What?...Why—How?” he followed the route over and over before glancing at a spot that had been circled.

“What's this? Where's this?” he asked no one in particular, but the tone was demanding someone answer. 

He had the map so closely held though, that no one else could see what he was referring to.

Nazir yanked the paper from his hands.

“Give it here, damn,” the Redguard said, “Let us see.”

He looked it over as well, but held it out for the others to be able to look too.

An area deep in the mountains bordering Skyrim and High Rock was circled-- though no known town, tavern, fort, or cave marked it. 

It was northwest of Markarth, but far in the border closer to the province High Rock. 

“Perhaps where they came from?” Aphid suggested. 

Cicero seemed fervid. 

“Let's go and find out,” he paced. 

“Simmer your heels,” Nazir said, “We're not clopping out tonight….And we have no idea why it's marked. Could be for them. Could have been a target. Could be a heads up for them. Enemies they encountered or were avoiding….Probably Forsworn….could be anything.” 

“Maybe they saw a pretty bird there,” Kor shrugged.

“Maybe,” Nazir shrugged back, “No reason to literally run for the hills…”

“I think we should check it out….,” Tressa spoke, “……….It looks like they came from there to me. Came from High Rock. Maybe they marked a safe passage to cross the border. Maybe they're connected to Sybil.”

“What if they're not, though?” Kor asked her.

“Well maybe all the more reason to see why they so actively had it out for us,” Tressa said, “….So, if there's anything there of them, might as well see who, what, why or whatever. And then get on our way into High Rock to deal with the Sybil business that must still be tended to, regardless.….So any which way of this, we got no where else to be, but High Rock, right? Might as well sight see this circle on the way.”

Nazir folded the map. 

“Well, how about we rest first before planning our grand adventure,” he said. 

Tressa shrugged.

“If you call tossing bodies down a hole all night a leisurely activity,” she said, noticing Cicero put a hand to his chin in thought.

“What is it?” she asked him.

“Hmm…,” he hummed in a ponder, “….We could place bets on how long before you hear the splat….”

He pointed towards the two corpses Kor had dropped earlier, one being a bit more portly than the other.

“Five seconds to his fifteen,” the jester said. 

“You're awful,” Tressa replied, shaking her head as she began helping with the carcass load again. 

“What?” he defended, “You said I was losing my touch. Now the jester can't jest? Make up your mind, huh.” 

“Less yakky, more stakky,” Tressa replied, “Rain's coming.”


	16. Lost Dog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IF YOU HAVE SENSITIVITIES, PLEASE READ. IF NOT (and don't won't anything at all spoiled) PLEASE SKIP THE AUTHOR'S NOTE. Scroll past fast until you hit the Chapter Title lol.  
> Author’s note…  
> Although I was initially conflicted to place this author's note, due to it's a bit spoiling, I do believe I should provide some trigger warnings for this chapter. Feels weird, I know, considering the nature of the characters and no warnings thus far lol..  
> But this chapter has some things not approached in a comical or whoopsie-murdery fun way..  
> Or whatever it is that we can let some of these things slide? We love our stabby-stabby fun friends, I guess.  
> Anyway, sorry, I'm a rambler.  
> So, yes, I am aware this chapter might hit some a little differently than others.  
> SPOILER WARNING: A little bit of a past reveal of a character is ahead, which leads to these spoiling  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Severe physical abuse of child by parent (flogging). Severe animal (dog) abuse. Animal (dog) death. Yes.  
> I understand these can be hard topics for some to read, so if you nope out, it's completely understandable. No hard feelings from me.  
> I know it's been mostly a dramedy thus far, but it will hit some touchy areas here and there…
> 
> Also, this chapter is a little longer than what I've been writing so far. It was even going to be way longer than it is now, but I cut it. (Kinda promised I'd have it out by now, so gonna stick to that). And I was going to take a break after posting, still might, as I have busy things going on. And my mood has been in decline haha. We'll see.
> 
> So, well, here we go..

Chapter 16: Lost Dog

Tressa was sat by herself near the back of the large opening chamber of the mine. Mother's resting sarcophagus was nearby, and she stared idly at it through the lens of her mask. 

Beyond it, and toward the middle of the chamber, sat Weylen, Aphid, Tsuni, and Babette casually playing with playcards found nearby.   
And down the rocky wall to Tressa's left, all the way at the opened entry doors of the mine stood Nazir, leaning on the frame. 

There was the main tunnel to Tressa's right, that channeled and split into different routes further in. 

Pavo and Gat had indeed done a lot of work to the place, what with this broadened chamber, added tunnels, and a dropshaft in a far corner leading to a deep chamber below, but the opening chamber was just a good a spot as any to rest for the night. 

No need to trap themselves further in should anyone or anything come in during the night. 

They'd load Mother back on the cart, too, as soon as Cicero and Kor returned with the last load of bodies to dump.

Tressa could hear the rain tapping warning drops on the ground just outside the opened doors and wondered just what was taking the two so long out there.  
They'd been out there far longer than Tressa would imagine it would take them to load the last haul. 

It couldn't have been intruding trouble, as Nazir remained leaning on the door frame looking out and had not yet reacted to any sight or sound of disturbance. 

Given, he did not have the eyes of a Khajiit, but he should be able to see their torchlight well enough. 

“What are they doing?” Tressa finally had asked, speaking up for Nazir to hear.

She wasn't worried about the safety of the two outside, no.  
Well….not Cicero's. 

A small little part in the back of her head did whisper a thought of the clown rattling his marbles again… and gutting Kor…..but Cicero had seemed back to his usual self.

Which was still rattled, but in a jingly sort of way.

Not clanky and cracked—though that was his usual once upon a time, too.

Nazir heard her and stepped a bit out, looking down at the ground below before comfortably leaning himself back on the frame. 

“Looks like they went inside the cabin,” he said, “Probably taking anything they think useful. Why don't you join them, kid, if you're worried.”

“I'm not worried…,” Tressa replied, “Just wondering what’s taking them….”

Nazir turned towards her fully, a look of knowing better upon his face.

When she gave a shake of her head and withdrew herself with a dismissive sigh, the Redguard walked over towards her. 

He gave the others a silent look that somehow conveyed “Occupy yourself. Mind your business.” and then sat down to her right.

“You know, my Listener,” he began speaking quietly but reassuringly, “…You realize that I worry too, right?”

She turned her head to him with a subtle tilt .

“About them?” she asked, not understanding what he meant. 

“What?” Nazir replied, initially caught off guard by her daftness, but then he shook his head with a humored smile. 

“No,” he said, “Not them….well….. Cicero still sets me at unease.”

Tressa suddenly sat up a little, as if readying to get up fully. 

“You think he might take a stab at Kor?” she asked to which Nazir pushed her back on her rump with his arm.

“Hold on now, no” he halted, a small chuckle escaping him, “And that's what you're worried about?....In that regard, I figured you'd be more worried Kor was going to kill him.”

Tressa again sat up as if to stand.

“Wait, so you still think--"

Nazir plopped her back on her rump once again. 

“No, Listener,” he explained, “I was trying to joke…..Guess that clown's awful attempts at humor has really soured your taste in comedy…”

“Considering everything that's happened today,” Tressa somewhat started to snip at him, but he cut her off. 

“I'm not saying your worries here aren't justified,” he explained, “…..But I came over here to--"

Tressa cut him off this time. 

“What if, in that cabin, a hanging pot falls and bonks Cicero on the head and makes him all bonkers again?” she said.

Nazir just stared at her for a moment before replying.

“….Go down there…,” he said.

“No, I'm not worried,” Tressa replied and Nazir caught the cheeky tone in her voice. 

“Alright then,” the Redguard looked away slyly, “…Maybe Forsworn will get them both in the night.” 

“Maybe,” Tressa feigned a lack of care about it. 

Nazir was still looking away, shaking his head, but there was a humored smile on his lips. 

A silent moment went by between them before he turned his attention back to the girl and spoke again.

“It's not a flaw, you know,” he said. Tressa obviously was off track on what he was talking about.

“…I don't think I do?” she replied in questioning confusion. 

“It's not a flaw,” Nazir restated and then explained, “….Worrying about the people you care for. Having people you care for, for that matter.”

Tressa didn't respond immediately, keeping her masked face locked on him for a moment as she processed that she heard him correctly. 

An unconvincing blow of a laugh escaped her when she finally replied. 

“…..Coming from the mouth of a murderer?” she said.

“Mhm,” Nazir nodded, unfazed, “…We're cold-blooded killers, yes. Our hearts are blackened, mostly shriveled even, ….but we still have them. Caring about the people you call family…it's not a fl--"

“It gets them killed,” Tressa tersely cut him off, but he laughed under his breath.

“Well not giving a shit about them gets them killed quicker..,” he replied.

“But it'd keep me alive,” Tressa retorted, Nazir's quiet laugh ceased quickly. 

“No, it wouldn't,” he said a more serious tone, “……Not in any real sense, anyway.”

“A beating heart is pretty real,” Tressa responded, “….so I'd still have my heart, technically, as you said.” 

“Who are you trying to convince, huh?” the Redguard retorted, a hint of his playful sarcasm returning, “I know what Weylen said is bouncing around under that mask and in that head. You want to be like him? Nothing but grumpy and as callused as a Windhelm grave-digger's palm?”

“He wouldn't be so shut down if he hadn't of cared in the first place,” the girl continued to spit back with her unconvincing retorts, “How many things must he have lost in his ridiculously long life? And he still stupidly tried to reach for Greorta, knowing she'd be torn away from him? His own fault.”

“Hm. Yes, I wonder how many losses he has suffered,” Nazir pointed out, “…And still found the courage to face the possibility of a loss again.”

Tressa tensed for a moment and remained quiet.  
Nazir's mention of courage was not lost on the recollection of Weylen speaking about that loose handle on her fears.

She let out a small frustrated sigh before responding.

“And look at him now,” Tressa said, trying not to raise her voice or motion towards the others so they weren't alerted to the conversation, “…Nothing, at what has got to be nearing the end of his life, but grumpy and callused, right?” 

Nazir gave a somewhat frustrated noise but a small smile after. 

“Cicero's right,” he said, “You are an imp. I bet that's what's hiding under that mask, huh?”

He heard her blow her tongue at him and he shook his head with quiet laugh.

They sat in silence for a moment before Nazir spoke again. 

“It's not a flaw, my Listener,” he restated what he had began, “I stand by that….So long as you let it be a strength, it will be…..so says that body ripping shock of yours that miraculously didn't touch a single person you care about….”

“Probably a fluke that round,” Tressa replied, “Dear old best buddy Cicero could probably swear I aim for him….” 

“Would you quit with the combating me here…,” Nazir was beginning to rue starting this whole conversation. 

“What ever do you mean?” Tressa sarcastically returned and then sighed, “…..And I really don't know about my shock being a strength either….I thought I've been gaining some form of control of it, whatever it is,…but….I…I know I managed to spare you all…but I felt it this time.”

“Felt it?” Nazir questioned, “…You mean like you shocked yourself?”

Tressa shook her head.

“No…no, not exactly,” she replied, “It….felt like….I don't know….like my soul was tearing from me…..”

Nazir looked upon her with a great bit of concern now.

“And why didn't you mention that? So are you hurt? Have you healed?” he asked and his gaze started to turn towards Weylen, as if to call out to their experienced healer.

Tressa grabbed his arm.

“I'm fine,” she said, “It didn't tear me, physically, at least. And yeah, it certainly didn't help my little…panic…but I am fine…..The last thing I would have needed is being forced out of my comfy shroud….”

Nazir reflexively nodded as if in understanding, but he was recalling the moment Cicero had staggered back to Weylen after trying to console Tressa in her panic. 

Had that clown seen her? Her back was turned to them, but Nazir thought he had seen movement under her hood suggesting she was unlatching her mask. 

Or did Cicero merely realize he was too battered to be of any use to her?

Whatever the case was, Nazir felt the question slip out before he realized he was actually asking it. 

“Why do you continue to keep up this shroud anyway?” he questioned and then decided to comment as well, since he might as well, “We can see you plain enough already, right?” 

Tressa was very still and quiet for a moment, before giving a half hearted shrug and nodding. 

Sighing, she said, “Here I thought Cicero's perception was just his carrot fed eyes….Yes, I was beginning to suspect I haven't been hiding behind this mask as well as I thought….”

Nazir chuckled at that. 

“Afraid not, my dear,” he replied, “…..so….sister. Why are you still hiding?”

The girl's masked face turned to him fully, her lens reflecting his awaiting stare. She seemed still a bit reluctant to lay it out there, dropping her gaze from him and drumming her fingers idly on her knees. 

“….Because I'm coward, Nazir,” she finally said and spoke almost angrily.

“You are not a coward,” he replied nearly immediately, lightly popping the back of his hand on her arm as if reprimanding her for such comment. 

He then; however, gave a small pat and shrugged.

“….I mean, yeah, you jump at the slightest bump..,” he remarked and then emphasized this by suddenly snapping his fingers towards her face, to which she indeed startled a bit. 

He chuckled softly about it, but a seriousness washed over his face after.

“But I imagine a life of comply or be punished,” he said, “…would make every bump, snap, tap, or crack a moment for brace.”

Tressa’s gaze seemed to drift away for a moment, but predictably she came back with an attempt to dissipate the heavy air of such a topic.

“Hey, though,” she said, “That time you spooked me and I dropped all those ingots on Cicero's foot was pretty funny….Forget the squeak I made but that sound that escaped him…”

She cracked into a giggle at the recollection. 

Nazir chuckled a slight, too.

“Oh how did I forget that hilarity,” he said.

“I don't know,” Tressa giggled a bit more, “But poor Cicero probably never will. I swear I still see him limp every great once and a while…”

Nazir humored her steer away for the moment, but brought the conversation back with a light jab of her with his elbow.

“The point I've been trying to make the moment I sat down, my Listener… My sister,” he said, “……A heart that beats for nothing, well, it just echoes into the nothing. Resonating aimlessly within a hallow shell with drums of idleness and vain, until the soul within can hear nothing, feel nothing, but that maddening drum—or laughter in someone else's case.....It might as well be resonating within the confines of a coffin. But a heart that beats for something…”

“You really like poetry, don't you?” Tressa remarked, cutting him off yet again. 

Nazir dropped his head back with an aggravated growl and Tressa lightly gave him the elbow jab this time. 

“You gave a good effort,” she said, “…..I am just hard of hearing with all this shroud on, huh?.....And what with all these loose fears rattling around in here….Conflicting the mind of this coldblooded killer, who can stab an innocent bystander one moment and then be afraid of….be petrified….of….”

She quieted again and almost withdrew from this conversation… but then she laid it out instead. 

“Nazir, I know I'm about to sound exactly like Astrid here….But this…. family,” she said, “truly is, somehow, the closest thing I've come to one. Then in a flash, I thought it was going to be ripped from me….just as everything always has been. It doesn't matter how well I hide, it always finds me....But I was so afraid this time, back in the Sanctuary, I hardly put up a fight….”

Suddenly, a chiming in of a jester's voice spoke out.

“The Sanctuary would beg to differ…,” Cicero said.   
Tressa whipped around in a great startle and saw him seated just a bit above them and to the side, relaxed a small jutting piece of rock in the wall. 

His boots and gloves, and part of his sleeves, were rather dirty and a bit muddy, but the rain had steadily been increasing out there. 

Tressa quickly lit into him, still reeling from the startle he had just caused her.

“WHY—WHEN, WHAT?!” she blurted out and growled, “How long have you been perched up there, you nosy old mountain goat?!” 

Cicero dangled a leg down and bobbed his foot. A low, but audible clicking of bone popping in his ankle as he did. 

“No, I don't believe,” he spoke, “The poor hoof of this old mountain goat will ever forget those ingots….”

His eyes seemed to be conveying a blame to which Tressa pointed at Nazir. 

“He's the one that made me drop them!” she said and lightly punched Nazir with an angry whisper, “Did you know he was up there?”

Cicero hopped down, his poor hoof not seeming all that affected after all, but he still folded his arms at the girl.

“Well, Nazir didn't bring up that incident as a fond memory now, did he?” the jester argued. 

“He agreed it was funny, though!” Tressa argued right back. 

Cicero did nod to that.

“Yes, he did,” he agreed but also retorted once more, “But that's our thing…Cicero pesters him by merely existing. He delights in my misfortunes of simply existing….You don't usually laugh at poor Cicero's misfortunes….Or be so forthright, I might add, with anyone but me….Hey! Wait. Am I being replaced as best friend?”

Tressa gave a sassy turn away of her head.

“You did say,” she remarked, “that I wasn't your best friend…” 

Cicero made some sort of strange noise, somehow conveying his shock and offense through a pitchy squeak. 

“That was a joke! You know it was a joke!” he said, “Cicero has called you his best friend, remember? Best friends forever!” 

“Yeah, at the Sanctuary door, right after you came back from the ‘dead' and threatened to kill me,” Tressa quipped back. 

“It was a joke!” Cicero squeaked and pointed accusingly at Nazir, “Get up. Up, up! Move away. Your tasteless humor has her bland. Go.”

Nazir blandly stared at him for a moment as the jester impatiently tapped his foot, a low growl rumbling in the jester's throat when the Redguard eventually gave a snide smile. 

Nazir sat up to depart, sharing a friendly bump of forearms with Tressa as he did, and the Redguard left the two to be. 

But as soon as Cicero sat beside Tressa, he looked impatiently towards the footsteps that had approached them. 

It was Kor, whose boots and arms where a bit muddy like Cicero, and the Nord looked at the masked girl with a soft expression. 

“You alright, Tress?” he asked but Cicero held out his arm in front of Tressa like he was blocking the words from reaching her.

“Ah-ah, enough, Cicero's got this,” the jester said, “Away with you lot trying usurp my position. Go. Go…”

He could hear a quiet chuckle under Tressa's mask, but he looked at her as if insulted.

“Cicero was only gone a short spell out there, my Listener!” he said, “I didn't replace you when you scoured all of Nirn for groceries.” 

Nazir's voice chimed in from the short distance he had awayed to. 

“Nobody's rushing for that spot,” he said and Cicero shot the offended eye his way.

“Unnecessarily harsh, Nazir!” the jester replied and then looked back and forth at him and Kor, “…And nobody seems to be rushing away from here. I said go! Get! Leave us! Vamoose!” 

Tressa was trying to stifle her chuckling, but something about the last word he said triggered more amusement and she asked through the giggle, “Is that an actual word?” 

“Huh?” Cicero turned his head to her, “Vamoose?”

Tressa seemed to think the word particularly funny. 

“What is that?” she continued to chuckle. 

Cicero shrugged with a hummed I-don't-know. 

“A spell?” he said. 

“For what?” Tressa responded, still chuckling through her words, “A moose for them to ride away on?” 

Cicero began to chuckle too but then seem to remember something. 

“Oh! Yes!” he said and pointed to Kor, “Go bring the cart and vahorses inside.” 

Tressa broke into full laughter at Cicero's snuck in “vahorses". 

“Go on,” Cicero waved Kor away and looked to Nazir, “Go help him.”

Nazir looked as if he was about to vocally refuse an order by the clown, but Tressa swung an arm in the direction of the mine entrance.

“Vamoose!” she said, seeming to quite enjoy this strange word. 

Nazir sighed with an eye roll, pushing upon Kor who was playfully mocking Tressa's arm swing, and they went to retrieve the cart. 

Cicero settled down after the other two walked away, but two others walked near, prompting him to glare with an annoyed sigh and hold his arms up in indignation.

It was Aphid and Tsuni, who were really walking to go further into the mines but had to step near them to pass. 

“Hold the stab,” Aphid said rather calm, almost deadpan, guarding his abdomen with his hands, but it was clear he was joking, “….We're just going to rummage around. Perhaps find some dinner for us all. Tsuni said she saw a few cooking spits earlier.”

Cicero seemed a little grumpy, but settled once again. 

“Kor!” Aphid called, “Come find me when you're done with that. Might need a mule.” 

“We have a cart and horses!” the younger Nord shot back.

“They deserve a break,” the older brother retorted and paid no more mind to it as he walked away with Tsuni. Kor was still sure his reluctant sigh was heard about it, though.

Tressa was laughing softly at all the amusement happening here, and at the two brothers small back and forth, when suddenly a piece of cheese was held up in front of her mask, catching her slightly off guard.  
….But she'd be damned if she was going to startle at a piece of cheese.

“You hungry?” she heard Cicero ask, “I got some nibbles from the cabin.”

He started to reach back into his satchel while commenting, “Got a little assortment, actually. Here, my Listener, take your pick.”

“I'm not hungry right now,” Tressa declined his offer, “…Thank you, though, but I'm fine.”

“Are you?” he asked. 

“I'm not hungry, Cicero,” she restated, “No cheese, please.”

“No, not about that,” he replied, putting the offer back in his satchel, “…Are you fine?... You okay?”

Tressa was quiet a moment but then nodded. 

“Yeah, I'm fine….,” she answered, “….Just….You know. Been a day.”

“Mhm,” the jester nodded, “It certainly has….And we're all still here to watch the sunrise on the next day, alright? It'll be okay, my Listener.”

Tressa knew he heard the tail-end of her talk with Nazir, but it was truths Cicero already knew about. Whether it's truths she's opened up to him with before or her transparent shroud baring it out, he just knew regardless. 

“You're really not worried?” she did ask him though, “….About any of this?”

He shook his head, but a small hint of anger did settle on his face and voice.

“Well, Cicero does want to find out who did this,” he said, his lip curling a bit in that way it did when he was growing furious, “….And gut them even if they be already dead….”

His face calmed once more, as did his voice. 

“But no…I'm not particularly worried, my Listener,” he said.

Tressa motioned towards the resting sarcophagus. 

“Not even about her?” she asked, “About her sudden silence and--"

“Tressa,” Cicero stopped her as he had already addressed this before, “…I'm not worried……Cicero's never heard her voice, remember?... Not once….And there have been long stints of not having anyone who could. And Cicero has lugged dear Mother around, in the open world, in terrible silence, without even a friend at my side to bounce a sound off of…..”

Tressa silently and softly nodded, realizing Cicero has probably indeed seen and spent rougher days next to that hefty iron tomb. 

The jester lightly bumped her and finished his sentence from a moment ago. 

“And look where those days got me,” he said with an assuring expression. 

“……Here?” Tressa replied, the assurance not really taking hold, “With no idea where we're going now?” 

“We'll get where we're going, wherever it may be,” the jester said, “…All of us.”

They heard a loud plop on the ground near the entrance of the mine.

When they looked, they saw it was Kor. He had fallen on the ground after an apparently agitated Shadowmere head-butted him from behind. The horse was well ready to step out of the rain. 

The dark horse, and his female companion hitched next to him, both had then shook the rain from their coats.

The downed Nord got a good deal of it rained on him, and even though he was already wet from being outside as they were, he didn't look very appreciative of taking their wet coats for them. 

Cicero amended his previous statement a little at this witness, with an unsure click of his tongue.

“Eeh,” he said, “….Maybe just some of us…”

Tressa bopped him a little hard, despite chuckling a little. 

“Don't be mean,” she said, “I thought you were starting to like him?”

“I am…Cicero does,” the jester replied, “…It's going to be quite tragic when he dies.”

“Says the widow,” Tressa responded, Cicero suddenly whipping his head around towards her with what looked like confusion. 

“What?” he said with as much confusion on his tongue as his expression. 

“…..You two are married?” Tressa explained, “You'd be a widow when he dies? …Oh wait, did you forget the joke you two had going after the head crack?”

“Oh!..” Cicero recalled, “Oh. Yeah, guess I did…Tragic.”

“Hey, maybe that head thump erased some of your terribly good memory then, eh?” Tressa added, Cicero nodding a bit half-heartedly. 

“Yeah,” he smiled with as much effort, “Maybe…”

Their attention drew back to Kor who was walking past them to assist his brother now, grumbling about the sore knee Shadowmere had caused him. 

Despite his brought about crabby mood, he still gave Tressa and the jester a friendly enough smile and a nod as he passed, though he seemed to be trying to quicken his pace, even with his sore knee.   
Perhaps he was a little embarrassed. 

When he vanished around a turn in the tunnel, following his brother's faint whistling, Tressa resumed her conversation with Cicero.

“He's kind of sweet, you know,” she remarked. 

“Hmm?” Cicero replied, seeming a little out of the conversation. 

“Kor,” the girl explained, “He's sweet.”

Cicero suddenly gave her a telling face. 

“Oh? Is he?” he said teasingly.

Tressa jabbed at him with her elbow. 

“Stop it,” she said, though a small laugh threatened her breath. 

Cicero chuckled a bit and jabbed her back. 

“That's my husband you're trying to encroach upon, you bold little hussy,” he teased. 

“Stooop it,” Tressa repeated, this time shoving the snickering Cicero, “….And maybe he's going to want a bride his age when you kick the bucket soon, you old hag.”

Cicero had caught himself from falling all the way over and rose back up with an offended gasp. 

“Unnecessarily harsh,” he said, trying not to laugh.

“Unnecessarily harsh, says the one who beat me?” the girl replied. 

Cicero's smile immediately dropped with a seriousness washing over his expression, and as if sensing the redirect Tressa was about to do, he gently caught her arm as it came up to do that dismissive wave.

“No, don't do that. Listen,” the jester said.

Tressa froze a bit, off guard from his catch.

“Tressa,” Cicero addressed her in a seriousness by name, “….I am sorry I did that….I--"

“Oh, calm down, you dramatic clown. I know how you are,” Tressa slipped her arm away and dismissed this anyway, “And I know I keep dragging you for it, but--"

“Stop doing that,” Cicero suddenly insisted.

“Bringing it up?” Tressa questioned, “No, Cicero, it's funny.”

“No, not that,” he clarified.

“What are you talking about?”

“Tressa, Cicero knows how you are,” he explained, “You always try to make light of things that hurt you….Laugh at it, laugh it off…. You really think Cicero of all people doesn’t know what you're doing when you do that?” 

Tressa actually jolted a little bit, as if this off guard assessment startled her.  
She suddenly looked down and away, and he could see a bit of distress in her breathing. 

“No,” she started to say, “That's not—”

She continually kept looking in different directions, as if trying to find a physical path out of this conversation. 

“I'm not—It's just,” she kept stammering, “….It's….Damn it.”

Her lens met back with his rather clear gaze on her and she sighed.

“I don't want to talk about this, Cicero,” she said.

“Then don't talk. Just listen,” he said, almost as if he was about to lecture her, “Listen, my Listener. Are you listening?”

She nodded. A small nod, but she did nod.

“I am sorry, Tressa… I truly am. It was a terrible thi--” the jester had started to state, but had to stop and point firmly at her when it looked like she was yet again going to attempt a deflection.

“Don't interrupt,” he said, “And I know you're going to try and remark about all the worse things we do to anybody else. This isn't about them. This is about us. So, hush..”

Her subtle move to deflect dropped and she gave another small nod.

“It was a terrible thing I did to you,” Cicero resumed, “….especially to you. I wish I could blame it on all the noise under this cap...but…it was me… I am sorry, Tressa. It was me.”

He then looked away a bit, at the ground before them, furrowing his brow in what like deep thought. 

“I was angry….,” he said, “…and frightened….”

“Well, I almost ripped you apart. Of course you would be,” Tressa said, just impossible for her not to try these deflections it seemed.

“It doesn't excuse what I did,” Cicero asserted, “….No matter if it was the noise….or remnants of my--"

He looked away again, obviously cutting himself off that time, but it was only for a moment and he looked back upon Tressa.

“I betrayed you,” he said matter-of-factly.

He saw the disagreeing shake starting with Tressa's head and combatted with a nod of his own.

“Yes, Cicero did,” he said, “So don't you dare do that. Don't you fool yourself just because you want a friend, any friend. And understand a literal fool is telling you this, so...”

His tone shifted into something a bit more humored. 

“Gods, no wonder you chose such an awful one. I mean. Look at me. Sweet Sithis, you're deranged,” he almost chuckled, “You've really gotta reconsider your choices in life, my friend.”

Tressa did chuckle, despite a subtle sniffling of her nose. 

“Well, I didn't get to practice much choice making, you know. You're my trial by error,” she said with humor and he nodded. 

“My guide…,” Tressa added with a more serious but softer tone, “Like you have been since Astrid's days, when I was…so lost….I thought wandering into a rambling, festively dressed psychopath’s den was a great idea.” 

“Was it?” the jester somewhat chuckled. 

“Yes… It was,” Tressa replied, “Because that raving lunatic, out of everyone else in this….insane world….has been the closest thing I've ever had to a true friend….. A mentor.......A big brother…”

A fond smile had begun to set upon the jester as she noted these things.

“Even a…,” Tressa continued to add and a very quick but quiet, cheeky chuckle slipped out, “…..grandfather figure.” 

Cicero tried to look offended, but his chuckling slipped out as well. 

“Oh, Cicero just knew you were going to find a way to call me old in there,” he boxed her on the arm. 

She laughed a bit, but after the humor simmered, she questioned his rather unsurprised response. 

“You seemed rather expecting of all that, actually,” she said.

Cicero gave a light nod followed by a humming “uh huh". 

“Carrot-fed eyes, remember?” he explained, “…..And…since we're being so sickeningly sweet and honest here……Cicero has always seen something in you. About you….”

“What do you mean?” Tressa asked.

“You remind him of….,” he began to say, but paused. 

He really seemed a bit hesitant to say it, even though he wanted to say it. 

“Somehow…..of….someone. Someone he cared for long ago…”

He felt Tressa elbow him lightly. 

“Come on,” she tried a light joke to pry it out of him, or at least lessen the seriousness that seemed to be weighing upon him, “…I so lovingly don you big brother and you give me…just someone?” 

Cicero did a quick smile but was obviously in the grips of feeling he was speaking too much, which was quite unusual to see on him. 

Tressa attempted one more pry by simply asking, “You gonna tell me?”

“Yeah….,” the jester finally replied, “…..You ….remind me of…”

His gaze was fixated on the ground ahead of him but Tressa could see, even from the side, a clear and focused gaze in his eye. His brow was furrowed in a seriousness, but not of anger or distress.

But then suddenly, his eye darted to her with a cheekiness upturning his lip.

“My dog…,” he finally answered.

Tressa almost made that squeaky, offended gasp of his at that. 

“….You did not just compare me to--"

“Yes, she was a snippy little thing too,” Cicero nodded and laughed. 

Tressa boxed him on his arm then. 

“You are such a…Oh my Gods,” she seemed to realize something, “…that's why you pat me on the head all the time! You jerk!”

Cicero began chuckling even harder. 

Tressa began sounding snippier, although a hint of humor still on her tongue.

“I thought people usually used a stick to play fetch with their beloved fleabags, not beat them with it,” she teased, seeing him give her a slight eye for that but still laugh.

“Or,” she continued, “were you trying to make me a tiger? Like you?”

Cicero suddenly stopped laughing. 

He looked at her with what appeared to be genuine mortification.

“I scarred you?” he asked with a tone drenched in as much mortification. 

“Wha—no. No, I was jo—Cicero, it was a stick. How would—Stop looking at me like that.”

“Show me,” the jester demanded. 

“What? No,” Tressa quickly replied and sat on the questioned hand to prevent him from snatching it. 

“Why not, then?” Cicero questioned with obvious suspicion. 

“Cicero, my shroud?” Tressa answered, “No face, no hand.”

“Just your hand,” he said, “I have to see. Cicero has to see now.”

“No,” the girl insisted, “Just seeing my hand could rule out the guess-what-I-am game. Nuh uh, I want to keep it up.”  
  
“Tressa….”

“No…..What? You think I'm lying?”

“Yes, indeed. I do,” Cicero bluntly remarked. 

Somehow, he just knew she was giving him a glare in the pause that came after that, but he simply stared back. He was not going to back down from this until he knew what he had or hadn't done to her. 

Tressa held that masked glare for a moment before giving a slight nod. 

“Alright,” she said with a sigh, “Okay…I'll let you see for yourself, but!....Tell me about your dog first. I should know the mongrel I take after. No, wait! Better yet, tell me the story of the lost little puppy.”

Cicero still stared at her for moment, before his eyes darted away in thought. 

He was contemplating it. 

And after a rather long minute of contemplation, he began to shake his head in disagreement, before suddenly switching it to a nod instead.

“Okay…,” he agreed, “….But if I tell you, you're going to owe me a peek under that mask too.”

“No. But why?” Tressa refused but questioned.

“Because the same day I lost my dog was the same day I got most of these scars on my back,” Cicero clarified. 

There was a silent pause before Tressa gave a small “Oh…” and started to seem like she wanted to drop it, but Cicero shrugged.

“But Cicero will tell it just for the hand…,” he said. 

“Um…okay,” Tressa replied, “…You can just tell me what your dog was like, if you rather.”

“No. It's fine,” the jester assured her, “You've confided in me plenty, perhaps this jester should return such a gesture.”

Tressa didn't say anything, but she did give that small nod of hers when indicating she's listening.  
The jester nodded in return, took a small breath, and exhaled it. 

“She was a retriever but never was any good at that namesake,” Cicero began and Tressa gave a scoff. 

“That wasn't a slight at you,” Cicero chuckled and continued, “...Her name was Maple. So cleverly named for her maple fur, and, because I had such an affinity for maple drizzled anything. Sweet tooth, as you know..….My mother gifted her to me as pup, when I was still rather a pup myself….and it wasn't too long after that that my mother passed away. That dog could make you love her all on her own; understand, she had such a personality and, by gods, the sassiness…Charming, though, I suppose..….But the sentimentality certainly cemented our bond.”

“Wait…,” Tressa halted his hardly began story, “…You had a mother?”

Cicero looked at her with a mixture of bafflement and amusement.

“Yes, Tressa….Everyone has a mother,” he replied. 

“I meant..”

“I know what you meant,” he said, “Yes, Cicero at least got six years to know his….”

“What was she like?” Tressa asked to which Cicero raised his brows and wagged his finger. 

“Uh-uh, dog and stripes and that's it,” he said. 

He heard the blow of her tongue, ignored it, and continued talking about Maple. 

“Maple followed me around everywhere, from the moment I first patted her head. Always tilting that head, too, at my words. Whether she was eagerly listening or trying to decipher the gibberish, I’m not entirely sure…but….she was eager to learn what I had to say. What tricks I had to teach…. Always giving that cheeky sass when completing instruction, though. That dog huffed and puffed far more than you, that's for sure.…..But that dog was there anytime I turned around.” 

He looked Tressa more directly in the eyes and commented, “She was my only friend for a long time.” 

He shifted his legs up and sat his arms on them, fidgeting with his gloves as he continued his talking.

“Eleven years she was with me. I was of sixteen years when it happened. From five to sixteen, that's a whole lifetime to some, I suppose..….And it indeed felt like I lost an entire previous life….”

He stilled a bit and his brow furrowed in the way it had when he had been reluctant to speak earlier, but he didn't withhold what it was he had to say this time. 

“Never gets easier, that….”

He inhaled and exhaled a bigger breath before continuing both the fidgeting with his gloves and speaking. 

“I was a confectioner….,” he said. 

He even heard the tilt of Tressa head on that one.

“A what?” she asked, “Oh, you mean like…a sweets maker? Oh!..Oh, wait! That explains your talent with sweets! No wonder you’re.....Wait, you said you were only discussing the lost dog and your stripes…”

“I am,” he said, “This is quite relevant, especially to that day…”

Tressa readjusted her position to show she was fully invested, but she still had to make another comment. 

“I should have known the baker had a sweet past life,” she remarked with humor on her tongue, “Were you a sweets-maker when you turned to a life of murder and mayhem? What turned you? Someone stole your sweet roll?” 

“For a Listener, you do an awful lot of the talking…and interrupting.…,” Cicero replied as if getting slightly annoyed, but a smile betrayed his agitation. 

Tressa pantomimed a key and lock over her mouthpiece and gave a shushing finger to indicate her silencing. 

Cicero waited a moment to be sure, and Tressa gave him the go-ahead hand motion. 

“…..Cicero worked in a sweets-shop and bakery, yes,” the jester began, “It was one of my first real rebellions against my father, for—And I tell you this also for the sake of relevancy—Cicero's family were socialites…”

Tressa straightened up a little at that, and for the first time, Cicero couldn't quite sense what her expression must have been behind that mask. 

Was she just surprised in a sense of trying to imagine him being of a well-to-do?   
Or did this reveal strike a resentful nerve, if just even for a moment? 

“Bottom of the barrel for socialites,” Cicero added, “…..The Callorius family had been slipping from grace for quite a while, which prompted a lot of strict conformity expected by my father. A lot of unobtainable expectations. A lot of….anger. I would rather like to believe the death of my mother brought about a stress he simply handled horribly, but then again, I also believe his desire to climb back to elite society was what…. killed her…..Although, my father hadn't always been so…..Eh, now Cicero's trying to get off topic. That's a story for another time….”

He cleared his throat a bit and focused on the day in question; the memory pushing through the noise in his head with a clarity he wished could be drowned out.

“The morning was per the usual that day, while I was at work in the sweets shop,” he began, “Maple was at home, as I understandably couldn't bring her into the shop—no matter how much she moped about and guilted me for it….Oddly, though, I did feel compelled to leave her a good few extra treats laying about ...…My father was home when I left, but he was soon to leave to a brunch with the ever popular head of the city guard. My father, you see, had a few shady dealings in our coffer, and the head cretin was more than willing to keep the shades drawn, so long as a little of your coffer passed under the table of a fancy luncheon. So as far as I knew that morning, my Maple was at home enjoying a good game of hide and treat, my father was off to schmoozle his way further up the anus of elite society, and Cicero was just trying to perfect his three-layer custard tart….”

[Sometime, long ago, in a sweets shop donned Calanden's Cakes and Confections] 

A young teenaged Cicero fiddled anxiously with the stained, well broke in baker's apron that draped over his rather finely made green tunic, and although the sleeves of his tunic were rolled up, it would seem this fine garment hadn't been totally spared from his work.  
His fine linen trousers hadn't quite been spared either, showing evidence he may have spared the apron more than anything else. 

His auburn hair was pulled into a bun, to at least keep it away from his work, but some of it had refused to stay captive and framed his face instead.   
The young Imperial stood eagerly awaiting the judgement of his boss and baker superior, who stood before him giving a delicate bite to the tester tart the boy had presented him with.

The High Elf, whose golden skin was dusted with flour and baker's uniform and hat coated just as ghostly, gingerly rolled the bite over his tongue and seemed to give each side of his mouth a chance to chew the piece. 

His greenish-gold eyes stared straight forward with no hint of expression, as the young Cicero's dark eyes fixated unblinkingly upon him, anxiously awaiting some form of tell or reaction. 

The Altmer swallowed the piece, clicked his tongue and gave a thinking hum; the young Imperial completely stilled his anxious fiddling in anticipation.

The elf's eyes met his with the cold sternness only an Altmer could emote, and the pause of heavy silence began lowering the boy's head with its weight. 

Suddenly; however, the High Elf lit up with a smile and he gave the boy's shoulder a shake. 

“Well done, Cicero!” he congratulated, “That is perfection, my boy! Just leave it in the oven a smidge, and I mean just a smidge, longer and it. will. be. divine….Make two, no,.. three batches for our daily special tomorrow.”

Cicero lit up then, too, at the elf's praise, but remarked upon that dreaded wait he gave him.

“Why do you always stone face me like that, Calanden?” he asked with a little bit of a relieved laugh, “You know I always think the worst!”

“You shouldn't,” Calanden responded, “You should be a smug little prick. You've yet to disappoint me, Cicero. Trust yourself. Have some pride, kid, would you?” 

“I have pride…,” Cicero replied and Calanden gave a blow of unbelief. 

“I do!” the boy insisted, “My meringue cookies are the best! Way better than yours!” 

Calanden put his hands to his hips as if in anger but his words were the opposite. 

“Now that's what I'm talking, you little prick!” the High Elf cheered and affirmed, “And yes, they are! How on Nirn do you make them so colorful?”

“I use--" Cicero started to say, but Calanden cut him off.

“Ah, no! Don't tell it,” he said, “The secrecy will be yet more appeal. A little trade trick for you, when you inevitably take over my shop.”

“I'm not going to take--"

“Yes, you are!....I can see it now…’Cicero's Sweets'….Oh, that's good. You better call it that.”

Cicero rolled his eyes, but with a smile and nod. 

“Three batches of tarts, then?’ he asked, turning to put his focus back on work. 

“Yes, small sir. Step to it,” Calanden gave him a shooing hand. 

“Oh, wait,” Cicero turned back to him, “….Did my father stop by yesterday evening for the cream pastries he ordered? He was already in bed when I got home, and I just didn't think to ask him this morning if he did.” 

“Oh? What's this?” Calanden seemed interested in a different part than the question, “I let you off early yesterday and you didn't get home until late?” 

“I don't always hurry home, you know,” Cicero responded, “Did he get them? Because, if not, I need to run them to him…quick.”

“Quick?” Calanden questioned, “…He wanted them for his fancy dinner with the slummy guard, right? What's the hurry?” 

“No, it's a brunch,” Cicero replied and seemed to grow quite a bit anxious.

“Brunch? …I swore you said he was going schmoozing in the evening?”

“No, at Don's Evening,” the boy corrected, “That new uppity place near the square. Serves an evening menu all day….Oh, no no no. Could they be done? It’s almost noon now. Is Dad going to be mad if he didn't get--- Calanden, I'm sorry, I need to take him the--"

“No, it's fine. He got them. Relax,” the High Elf halted the rushing and anxious teen, “I was just thrown off the time table of his, uh, wine and…” The High Elf smirked a bit as he made a cupping motion with his hand, wiggling his fingers provocatively.

“Dine…,” he finished sensually.

Cicero’s anxiety eased a little, but he looked at Calanden with a mildly humored disgust.

“Don't,” the boy said, his nervousness lifting but still slightly present in his laugh, “Don't start talking like Godwyn.…Godwyn talks too much like Godwyn.”

The High Elf laughed but then seemed quite interested in something.

“Ohh, wait, speaking of him though…,” he said.

“No,” Cicero answered seeming to know exactly where this was going.

“His sister.”

“Don't.”

“Are you two--"

“Stop.”

“Off early, home late--"

“Please stop.”

“You're blushing, my boy--"

“I'm not. I don't want you to lug out those weird heart shape cake pans again.”

“The sweetheart cakes I'm going to make on Hearts Day are going to be the biggest hit yet!”

“Who did you commission the pans from? They look like the blacksmith literally iron casted someone's heart! Who exactly is going to be feeling romanced after eating the heart of a murder victim?”

“You and your girl, to start! You two adorable kids can showcase the first bite.” 

“Stop it. Three batches of tarts?”

Calanden was chuckling and began to nod, but suddenly seemed washed over with a glimpsing moment of apprehension.

“Um, actually,” he said, “…Uh. I, uh, need you to run a town over to Alvia's shop.”

“What? For what?” Cicero asked.

“She…sent me a request for whatever supplies we could spare,” Calanden answered, seeming a bit hastened, “Seems her last two shipments got intercepted by dealers thinking she uses actual moon sugar….”

“Wait, is this the errand you wanted me to do for you later this afternoon?” Cicero asked.

The High Elf rushed to the front where the transactions counter was and grabbed a sack and empty crate from the storage area underneath the counter top.

“Um. Yeah,” Calanden began as Cicero came up behind him, “….but I realize how stupid it would be to send you out so late. You’d not be back until night! Too dangerous. And your father surely wouldn't approve a second evening out--Here. Take these. Yes, take these, and the jars in the back, and just put a dabble of whatever seems fair to spare in them and get going. And be safe, my boy.”

“What, so right now?” the boy asked, obviously sensing something amiss here, “Calanden, why are you acting so---what's going on?” 

Calanden began ushering him along, but a silhouette moving along the window from the outside caught his eye. 

The High Elf suddenly took back the sack and crate he had just handed the boy and quickly tossed them away. He then yanked Cicero's apron from him, startling the boy with the sudden aggressive tug. 

“Calanden! What are you--!!!”

“Shh, come here, hurry!” the High Elf rushed him to hide in the storage area underneath the counter.

“Caland--" Cicero began to reactively protest with confusion and worry, only to be shushed again and pointed to stay hidden.

“Stay still. Stay quiet. You're not here,” Calanden insisted, tossing the boy's apron on a hanging hook nearby, “It's okay, my boy. Just stay qui--"

The door to the shop swung open, and Calanden immediately straightened and put his full attention on the one entering the store.

“Ottavio! Good day!” the elf greeted, giving a false clearing of his throat.  
It was to cover the scrambling noise of Cicero pressing himself further under the counter at the call of his father’s name.   
Cicero was utterly confused, but he also knew the sound of his father's furious stride, and its intimidating thumping would have sent him under the bar if Calanden hadn't already urged it. 

Cicero's mind was swirling with a thousand things in a small second.

What was this about? Why is his father stomping in? The boy didn't know of anything he may have done to anger his dad. The only incident he could recall happened days ago and had already been rectified by a light pop to the mouth, but other than that, things had actually been going rather fine between the two lately. His father had even given him permission earlier in the week to skip the studies yesterday evening and everything was fine this morning and Calanden said his father got the order….  
Panic.  
What did Calanden seem to know? What was going—

The thud of his father firmly dropping his arm on the top of the counter nearly startled a yelp out of the boy underneath.

“Save the pleasantries for your dry pastries,” his father's deep voice rumbled with an anger that made it lose its usual, more proper refinement, “Where's my boy?” 

“A town over,” Calanden quickly replied, “Sent him on some errands today. You might catch up with him if you leave right no--"

“Cut the shit, Calanden,” Ottavio bluntly cut him off, “Send him out.”

Cicero's worried eyes looked up at Calanden as the elf backed near where the boy's apron hung; the Altmer trying not to glance down upon him. 

“Ottavio, he's. not. here,” Calanden restated more plainly, gesturing to the vacated apron and trying to keep his eyes on the angry man before him.

Ottavio rested both his arms in a fold on the bar. He looked very much like an adult Cicero, although of a size and build the runty boy would probably never fill. The man's dark brown hair also lacked the auburn fire that would have suited his angry expression better in this moment, but he certainly had the exact same eyes that told far more than words ever could.   
And right now, those dark eyes told of a dangerous threat in store for the boy he was quite literally looming over. 

“Cicero!!” Ottavio suddenly boomed, and luckily, his loud bang on the counter top drowned out Cicero's startled yip, “To the front! Now! Right now!”

Calanden folded his arms impatiently. 

“He's. Not. Here!” the High Elf insisted, “And besides, Ottavio, it was me. I made those cream pastries.” 

Calanden's eyes darted towards Cicero for just a flash, seeing the absolute confusion and question on the boy's face.

“Horse shit!” Ottavio contested.

“Dog shit more like it!” the elf threw back and Ottavio laughed, but there was absolutely no humor in that laugh. Not at all.

“With what dog, huh?” he argued.

“I don't know, Ottavio,” Calanden argued back as if talking to an imbecile, “Pick any of the mangy strays that run the streets, excreting wherever the call beckons. I believe you've tracked some of it in, eh? Or is that your breath?” 

Ottavio again banged loudly on the counter.

“CICERO! NOW!” the irate man raged. 

“He didn't do it! And he isn't here!” Calanden restated, his tone rising in an anger too, “And what reason would he have to risk such stupidity, huh?” 

“Sometimes the young don't think about risks until the consequences are upon them,” Ottavio explained, “Though it would seem he at least thought he was clever.”

“What are you even talking about?” Calanden shrugged in exasperation, “And for the last time, it was--"

“Funny then,” Ottavio cut in, “How earlier this week, my boy gave me a bit of grief about this brunch with the guard….Remarking how I'm trading souffle for…shit.” 

Calanden's eyes darted to Cicero for a flash again; the boy looked positively drained of blood, as the elf probably did too.   
Cicero was innocent, but the boy's previous remark that week was a terrible coincidence, of which Calanden was adamant to point out. 

“Ottavio, I tell you on my wife's soul that,” the elf raised an honest hand, “that is just a terrible coincidence…It was me. The old are rash, too, and on. my. wife's. soul. I have all the reason to risk such shitty stupidity.”

“No,” Ottavio replied rather simply and looked as if he was going to move around the counter. 

“YES!” the elf was the one to boom his angry voice now. He quickly stomped to the bar and leaned face to face with the man.

“That guard…that waste of skin,” Calanden gritted the words angrily through his teeth, “That racist sewer scum....Just hardly a few years ago. He was right there, not farther than that door, when those Imperial thugs cornered my wife and I. Pelted us with mud and rocks…..’It's just mud', that waste said. ‘It's just mud, at least it ain't shit.’..”

The elf's fingers dug into the countertop as they closed into fists.

“And when that….’mud'….broke my knuckles as I tried to cover…my wife's….bleeding head…,” he said, tears glistening his eyes, “….Oh, according to him and his ‘witnesses'—the thugs, mind you.….He called for a healer......Too late…..He allowed all of it, Ottavio—no,… he murdered her all the same. He.. MURDERED her. And where was the justice?...The thugs thrown in a cell for, what, a week? And the guard…He was godsdamned promoted, Ottavio! Promoted!”

Ottavio actually appeared a little softened by the sorrowful elf; just a bit. 

But Calanden had a venom still needing to drip from his tongue. 

“You're both lucky I am a weak man,” the elf sneered, “Lucky it was just dog shit….Or this city would have been rid of one less shit guard and..” The elf’s eyes peered at Ottavio as if pointing a finger directly on his nose, “..perhaps I would no longer have to see Cicero fidget so uneasily whenever I raise my voice just a little too much…”

The unacted threat and accusing remark settled on Ottavio for a moment, before whatever softness had been in his eyes dissipated… and was replaced with that dangerous glare he had before.

The man suddenly leapt up onto the counter bar and over, shoving Calanden back with a harsh shove.

Ottavio then turned, seeming to know exactly where to look….under the counter. 

Calanden’s earlier glances must have, as brief as they had been, been just enough to tip the man off. 

“Come here, boy,” Ottavio growled as he snatched his son by his leg and yanked him out from under the counter. 

Cicero could only give a frightened gasp as he slid further into the furious grip of his father. Ottavio clutched a tight hand around the boy's arm and yanked him up on his feet, pulling him along without much hindrance, despite Cicero's frantic effort to halt their steps or slip his grasp.

Calanden rushed them and tried to separate the two himself. 

“Ottavio! Stop! Let him go!” the elf gripped them and tried to anchor Ottavio from dragging Cicero away, “Where are you taking him?! Stop!”

Ottavio shoved Calanden off and only addressed his son.

“I’ve been giving you too much leeway lately for disrespecting me,” he scolded and Cicero flinched at the finger in his face, “and I see now what insolence…What absolutely treachery that leads to! Come on!”

“I-I d-didn't do anything!” Cicero pleaded, vainly trying to halt his father's pull on him.

Calanden had again tried to stop this too, but Ottavio socked the elf to the floor this time. The strike to his temple dazing him, as the elf could hardly push up. He wobbled and slipped on his hands. His now glassy eyes wildly scanned about, trying to see through his scraggy greying blond hair, which had fallen in his face when the hit knocked his hat off. 

Cicero managed to slip his father's grip to get to his fallen friend; frightened that harsh hit may have done worse than daze him, but within a moment, he felt Ottavio’s tight grip on him again.

His father slung him forward towards the door, without releasing his digging fingers from his arm.

Cicero yelped from the pain of it, and then yelped again when he felt a sharp pain across the small of his back, and then again across his rump. 

He immediately turned that target away and faced his father, getting strapped on the hip in the process by the belt he saw his father had in hand. Ottavio must have taken the dreaded thing off in the brief moment Cicero slipped him.

“Stop it!!” Cicero shouted defiantly, “I am not a child anymore! ENOU--"

He was cut off by Ottavio suddenly striking the strap harshly across his face. 

And that is when the father's grip let go in that sudden, silent moment as Cicero stumbled back and held his face in horrid shock. 

The boy's tearful eyes eventually looking at his father as if he didn't even know him.

Ottavio, too, looked a bit stunned. 

He was certainly no stranger to physically disciplining the boy, no, but what he had just done, crossed a boundary even he hadn't stepped over before. 

For a moment, Ottavio looked as if he didn't know what to do…looked even as if he was growing horrified of what he just did.

But then, unfortunately, it seemed he remembered his fury and made, instead, the decision to double down on what he had done.

He stomped towards his cowering son, yanked his hands from his face, roughly grabbed his jaw, and made the frightened boy look him straight in his eyes. 

“You're right, Cicero,” he coldly growled, “Small as you may be, you're not a child anymore …So you're going to come along, right now, and will face the consequences like a man.”

“I d-didn't do anyth--,” his boy started the whimpering protest once more, only to be met with the strap again to his leg—despite not being a child as his father had agreed. 

“Move. Now,” Ottavio ordered, giving Cicero a shove towards the door and the boy seemed to quickly give up his resistance and obeyed.

“Stop!” Calanden was heard. The elf had started to come back to his senses, but still couldn't quite get up yet. 

Ottavio nudged his son to keep moving, as the boy opened the door.

“STOP!” the elf yelled more forcibly again. 

And Cicero did. 

He didn't turn towards his father or Calanden, but he did halt himself in the doorway. 

“….Move,” Ottavio demanded with a warning tone.

Cicero instead, although trembling, placed his hands on the door frame with a shake of his head.

He heard the jingle of the belt's buckle and expected to be hit.

But instead, it was just Ottavio putting it back on his waist.

The man then effortlessly lifted his runty son off the ground and simply begun carrying him off. 

“Ottavio!” Calanden could still be heard, “Stop!!”

Of course, Ottavio didn't. 

He lugged his son to the city's square not too far away, where it seemed he was expected. 

The head guard was impatiently pacing near the square's statue, occasionally spitting with a residual disgust. 

A small crowd had gathered, having seemed to have witnessed what brought about this disgust, and the nosy bodies were in wait to see how the culprit was handled. 

When the guard saw Ottavio approaching with the mildly resistant, but mostly defeated Cicero bound in his arms, he straightened and stood stone faced. An icy stare on the boy he believed guilty. 

Cicero, at first, had his frightened eyes on the intimidating man his father was hauling him to, but then the boy's eyes darted elsewhere and widened even further. 

“Maple!!” he shouted and began to try and wiggle out of his father's clutches, “…No!! Maple!!”

His dog was leashed to a lamp post nearby, and he knew something terrible must be in store, too, for what was believed the other culprit. 

“Dad!” Cicero squirmed and began pleading with his father again but for the sake of his dog, “Dad, please! Maple didn't do anything!! She didn't! And I didn't either! Please!...Please!!”

“Be quiet,” Ottavio blankly replied.

“Dad!”

“Cicero,” his father replied firmly, “Quiet.”

He put his hand over the boy's mouth, and the boy was quite tempted to bite him…but didn't.

However, the dog, who had been nervously standing and whimpering, locked her eyes onto her distressed owner and began frantically pulling and tugging upon her restraints to get to them. 

“Move your hand, Ottavio,” the guard instructed and Cicero just realized the man was upon them. 

Ottavio removed his hand and the guard suddenly spit directly into Cicero's face, the action startling both the boy and his father. 

And unfortunately, Cicero reactively spit back, in disgust, though the action was taken as an act of retaliation.

The guard backhanded him harshly for it and looked at Ottavio with a scoff, readying to chastise the man for this horrible child of his. 

Maple, however, drowned out anything the man was about to say with her aggressive barking towards him. She's been known to bite even Ottavio before; she'd certainly latch ahold of this cruel man. 

“Shut that rabid dog up,” the head guard addressed another nearby guard, who took this as meaning permanently and withdrew his sword. 

“NO!! NOO!!” Cicero immediately began shrieking and fighting to break his father's grip with all his might, even kicking him as hard as he could. 

“Cicero! Stop!” Ottavio ordered, “Stop it!”

“NO!! NO, NO, NO! NO! PLEASE! DAD! DAD, PLEASE! NOT MY DOG!! PLEASE NOT MAPLE! DON'T LET THEM KILL HER!! PLEASE!! PLEEEAASE!!!” 

Ottavio, angry as he was, did still look to the head guard with a small bit of plea in his eyes. 

“Romuel...,” he spoke the guards name.

Romuel scoffed a bit again, but motioned at his fellow guardsman. 

“Muzzle her,” he said to which the other guard, although sounding just as huffy as Romuel about it, obeyed and tied the dog's mouth closed with a small bit of rope. 

Romuel shook his head in dissatisfaction and glared upon the man and his son. 

Ottavio set Cicero on his feet, but kept a firm grip on his arm to keep him from rushing to his dog. 

“Romuel,” Ottavio began, “The dog is--"

“I see why now,” Romuel spoke in, “your son thinks he can atrociously disrespect the law. You prim and props think you can get away with anything, huh?”

“No, Romuel,” Ottavio insisted otherwise, “No. He is here to face whatever consequence you think justified. I will not stand for anything less than the most severe punishment you find fitting for his atrocious deed, but--”

“Dad! I d-didn't do--"

“Enough, Cice--" Ottavio began to demand but Calanden's voice pushed through the crowd. 

“STOP! STOP!” the elf was still yelling, shoving through and looking Romuel right in the eye.

“THE BOY IS INNOCENT!” Calanden demanded, stomping up to Romuel face to face, “IT WAS ME! ME! ME, YOU DOG SHIT BREATH BUFFOON! ME! HOW DID YOU LIKE YOUR JUST DESSERT, HUH?! YOU GODSDAMNED MURDERE--"

Romuel slugged him far harder than Ottavio had done, rendering the elf absolutely unconscious. 

“That man reeks of booze,” the guard said, motioning to his fellow guardsman again, “Take him away. A bit of time in a cell, ‘til he comes to his senses.….Oh, and…call him a healer, would you?”

Cicero watched in distraught as his friend was dragged away, quite like a sack of garbage too. His attention was only pulled by Romuel roughly grabbing his chin.

“And you, boy,” Romuel sneered, now holding a frightful and punishing implement in Cicero's face, “It's a whipping for you. A dozen lashes.” 

Cicero's eyes widened in fear at the cat-o-nine in the guard's hand and the boy quickly looked to his father in plea.

“D-Dad…,” was all the boy could stammer out. 

Ottavio was trying to appear stone faced, but it was obvious a confliction was upon him, even despite his supposed acceptance earlier of whatever severity the guard had in mind. 

Romuel looked at the man and held the implement out to him.

“Twelve lashes FROM YOU, that is,” he said, “…Discipline your boy. Show me you won't just let things….slide under the table.”

Ottavio heard that coded message, and nearly glared at the guard, but his dangerous eyes quickly shifted to his son. 

The father had to decide if his own hypocrisy was just, and his eyes on his son judged it so.

  
“Dad, n-no, please,” Cicero beseeched him, seeing the decision in his eyes, “Please don't. Please don't do this.”

Ottavio took ahold of the cat-o-nine.

“Dad! No! Please don't!” Cicero begged, vainly pulling away from his grip, “Don't!” 

Ottavio simply pulled him along to the guards readying ropes to restrain Cicero to the statue. 

“NO! DAD!” the boy panicked and pleaded, “I DIDN'T- I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING! PLEASE!”

Maple was frantically trying to escape her bounds, and muffled as she was by her muzzled jaw, her threatening growls and closed barks rumbled through. 

Cicero nearly slipped his father's grip, but the man once again picked him up effortlessly in an arm. 

The boy tried kicking him but was then slung harshly against the base of the statue and pinned stilled. 

“Face your consequences like a man, Cicero,” his father coldly spoke. 

“Dad!”

“Enough,” Ottavio replied, letting up only to allow the guards to rope the restraints around his son, removing the boy's tunic as they did. 

“I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!!” Cicero shrieked as he was further bound to the statue.

“I SAID ENOUGH!” Ottavio boomed back, readying to lash the boy in his fury.

He was halted, not only by the guards—for they were still in the midst of finishing the binds—but also by the sound of claws digging into cobble, hastening towards him. 

Maple had slipped her leash, had raked the rope from her muzzle, and was bounding with a vicious snarl towards Ottavio. 

The man, still in his fury, swung the implement hard and hit the dog, stunning her long enough for him to lash her again and then again until she was cowered on her belly in pain. 

“DAAAD!! STOP!!!” Cicero screamed in horror, bringing Ottavio out of his fury for a moment.

He collected himself for a moment, steadying his breath and looking about.

At the cowering dog, at the equally frightened son, at the people dispersing from this witness, apparently not as able to nose this out as they thought, and the ones that remained watched on uneasily. 

Ottavio looked to Romuel with a bit of plea in his eyes again, searching for a route back from this edge he was so rapidly approaching, only to be met with an unyielding and warning stare. 

“Justice will be served,” the head guard told him, obviously implying to either finish this or be dealt the consequences for Ottavio's own crimes. 

He looked to his scared boy, trembling as his binds tightened and the father tightened his grip on the cat-o-nine, gritting his teeth and taking a steadying breath. 

He motioned to Maple and then the lamp post. 

“Tie her back to her post, tight. Tight as you can,” he said, “And if the rabid thing breaks loose again….kill her.”

“Dad!” Cicero heard him.

“Enough, I said,” Ottavio pointed to him then, as the boy's wide stare peered over his shoulder at him, “Your whining is what's setting the mutt off. You're not a child anymore. It's time to grit your teeth and take this like a man.”

His son, his small runty son, held that fearful gaze at him, tears having already fallen and more threatening to escape.   
He bit his lip to try and combat that and to stop his quivering jaw, before then giving up and turning his forehead into the statue to cry as unseen as he could.

This was insanity.

The guards had finished binding him and one offered and advised the boy to bite upon the bundled rag he held at his mouth. 

Cicero was reluctant to take it, part of him desperately hoping this cruel insanity would just stop, but hearing his father approach and simply stand in wait, he took the rag in his teeth and whimpered.

It seemed his father wanted to say something, perhaps to tell him again to suck it up, or possibly perhaps, maybe preemptive apology….but he ended up saying nothing. He gave a hiss of a sigh and Cicero knew it was about to happen….

And then, he felt it. 

The terrible first lash erupted across his back, the tresses instantly leaving their searing marks, and before Cicero even quite had time to comprehend its hit, the second lash came.

A pained gasp escaped him like neither he or his father had heard before, and there was a pause as Ottavio stared at the blood surfacing the welts on his son's back. 

The father knew just what one more hit meant. He knew. 

And just a moment of thought later, he made the worst decision of his life…..and struck again….And again.

And as the wrath of whatever shell remained of this father fell on Cicero's back, as the boy's tears…and blood….poured down his body,….the dog’s hoarse bark choked through her constricted throat.   
She was desperately trying to break free again, and she would die if she did so.

But it was abundantly clear she was going to kill herself trying. 

“M-Maple!!” Cicero didn't fail to notice even in his position, spitting out the rag and shouting even whilst being struck,“Ma-Maple! D-Dad!! Dad!!!”

Ottavio either couldn't, or wouldn't, hear him. 

“DA--!!AD! STOP! MAPLE STOP!!”

But the continued whipping was striking away even his voice. And it would appear his father lost count. Lost in daze or fury.….

By the time it was over, finally over, Cicero could only squeak in sobs. His widened horrified eyes fixated towards the lamp post.

Ottavio was fixated on his son, so lost in seeing what he had just done, he failed to notice anything else until Cicero's eventual refound voice snap him to attention. 

“N-NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!” was all the horrified boy could scream.  
Ottavio looked to where his son's gaze pointed and finally saw the dog he had had retied so tightly to the post…..lifelessly slumped against it.

So tightly and closely wound to the post she was, her head still hung above the ground. 

Ottavio threw down the implement in hand and rushed to Maple.

He dropped to his knees by her and quickly unwound and undid her binds, desperately hoping she'd gasp for breath, growl, get up….bite him. Anything. 

Instead she thumped upon the ground, the only sign of life escaping in a quiet strangled whine, and then, nothing. 

“Maple?….,” Ottavio shook her, “Maple. Maple, get up you rabid mutt. Come on….breathe…..”

Ottavio continued trying to provoke life back in the dog, listening, prodding, shaking, listening….nothing. 

The only thing he heard next was his son's shaking voice. 

“W-what….have…What h-have you done?” he said brokenly and then screamed with a fury that could match his father's, “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”

The boy's sobs broke him again, to a mix of anguish and anger.

“You're a monster,” the son told his father, “….You're a…godsdamned… monster!”

Ottavio, in shock, unable to turn to his son, and responding purely out of habit, merely said, “…Language.”

“FUCK YOU,” Cicero responded vehemently at that, “FUCK! YOU!.. OTTAVIO!"

The father's attention snapped to him then. His crestfallen expression showing, for a moment, that he was more upset at his son calling him by name than at the curses so fervidly thrown at him.

But then Ottavio's cold anger returned.

He stood and stomped to his son still bound to the statue, and Cicero reactively turned his head in his instinct to hide. 

But then the boy turned an equally matched cold glare back upon the man. 

Ottavio stood at his side, glaring down at the boy glaring back. 

Cicero didn't waver. He didn't drop his gaze, he didn't so much as hardly blink, and he didn't even flinch when his father's stern finger came at his face. 

“I am forever your father, Cicero,” Ottavio stated, “Nothing. Nothing will ever change that.” 

For something that should have sounded heartwarming, it was nothing but cold. 

Cicero intended to return that coldness in his empty stare, but he faltered and hitched with a cry, ducking his head down in a sob.

Ottavio put a hand upon his son's shoulder, but it only felt mocking to the boy.

Cicero gritted sorrowfully through his chattering teeth, “….You're as gone, as dead now, as my dog….Ottavio.”

The man simply slipped his hand from Cicero's shoulder, staring blankly at the sobbing boy and what he had done to him, before looking to Romuel, who had stood back and looked unperturbed at all of it. 

Romuel gave a spit, motioned his fellow guards to release the boy, and plainly remarked, “Alright. Nasty rug's been beat. We can sweep this mess under the table now.”

Ottavio seemed to could make no reaction. He only stood there silently, blankly, as his son was unbound and painfully treaded his way to his dog, collapsing in weeping sobs over her lifeless body. 

[Cicero, the jester, fidgeted with his gloves as he stared blankly at the ground before him]

“I told my sisters that Maple got lost while following me on that errand I never ran,” he told Tressa, “And that I was attacked by forest goblins while looking for her…..So they wouldn't know what really happened….And that whatever had been left of our father had died too.…But I'm sure they knew, how could they no--"

“Wait,” Tressa cut in, “Sisters?” 

“Hm?” Cicero turned his head to her, “…Oh, yes.”

Tressa seemed to be waiting for an expansion on this, but Cicero didn't offer it.

“….The end,” he said instead. 

Tressa stared at him for a moment, and then gave a sort of hitchy breath out, shifted closer to him and clung a hug around his arm, dropping her head on his shoulder with a sad moan. 

“Yooou alright, Listener?” he asked of her. 

“Me?!” she asked back, lifting her head up to give him what was probably a very perplexed gaze under that mask, “You're always sarcastically offering hugs to us sad welps, but you need the hug, you Fool of Broken Hearts!”

He chuckled a slight and cheekily patted her head.

“It's alright, mutt,” he said, “Cicero’s come to terms with things.”

“Cicero…,” she began to reply, he thought to huff about the head pat or being called a mutt, but she instead finished with, “.....You're in a bloody jester's costume and have been gleefully dumping the bodies of your MURDER VICTIMS down a hole half the night….I'm not sure you've quite come to terms with much.”

Cicero chuckled again and shrugged a slight. 

“Fair enough,” he agreed. 

Tressa sat up and shifted back from him.

“Yes, speaking of fair…,” she said, removing the leather guard from her hand and arm, “I suppose you well earned the looksee…Here.”

She held out that hand for him to take and unglove, but he looked down at it and then up at her with a very unamused expression.

“Wha--" she started to ask, but he voiced his moody stare.

“Cicero was actually going to let it go,” he explained, “….Until you just tried to show me the wrong hand…..You're not fooling this fool. I remember! Other hand, now….Though, I think horrible Cicero just got his answer from this.”

Tressa sighed and reversed hands, offering the correct one.

“It is scarred…,” she said and the jester actually froze while taking ahold her hand, that mortified expression he had earlier returning. 

But Tressa adamantly added to what she had just said with an assurance.

“But it's not from what you did, Cicero,” she insisted, “It's a burn scar. I swear. I promise. It's a burn scar from….something….stupid. But I swear on Sithis, it's a burn scar.”

Cicero stared at her lens as if he was looking directly into her eyes for truth.

For a moment, it looked like he wasn't convinced, but then he nodded and even released her hand without taking his peek.

“Alright…I believe you,” he said.

“You don't want to look?” Tressa asked.

He shook his head. 

“Okay…,” Tressa said, “......Tough luck, Nazir. No glimpse for you.”

Cicero looked at her strangely and noticed her gaze looking up above him on the wall they sat against.

He turned around to see the Redguard perched above in the same spot the jester himself had shimmied up to earlier, having gone unnoticed as Cicero allowed himself to be absorbed in his story.

The Redguard was lain on his side, head cradled in hand, in a rather lazy position, looking as if he had been quite settled in for a bedtime reading.

“Nazir!” Cicero chided him, “Rude! How very rude!” 

Hypocritical, considering….

Nazir puh'd at that.

“Okay, Pot-Kettle,” he remarked, “Calm down…Didn't get nothing out of it anyway.”

“Of course you didn't!” Cicero snipped back, “Story didn't have a busty, lusty lizard in it! Go back to your books! Put your nose there instead of our business!”

Nazir had pushed himself up at the lizard comment, a silencing intent in his eye, but then he readjusted into a relaxed sit and lazily folded his arms. 

“Don't got any books for the time being,” he said, “I must begrudgingly settle for your entertainment. Dance for me, jester. Captivate me again with your woeful tales. They'll most amuse me.”

Cicero didn't look amused.

Nazir waved an arm, pushing the previous statement away and addressing an earlier one.

“And the ‘got nothing out of it',” he said, “Was in reference to not seeing Ms. Secret's hand, by the way.”

“Oh, I know!” Cicero still snipped and stood up, “Even worse! So disrespectful!---TSUNI! Cicero sees you, too!!”

The jester pointed towards the tunnel and the Khajiit stepped out from behind a supporting beam. 

“DIS.RE.SPECT.FUL,” Cicero scolded at the increasingly now bashful Khajiit. 

“Tsuni is most sorry,” she said, head down, hands together, and tail wrapped around her legs, “Curiosity sometimes gets the best of this one.”

Cicero folded his arms.

“Cats should be better careful of that, huh?!” he remarked heatedly, “Where's the brothers, then?”

The jester looked around, even straight above at the ceiling.

“They snooping, too, eh?” Cicero asked in agitation and looked across the chamber accusingly towards Babette and Weylen, as well. 

Babette cupped her hands around her mouth, and with a slightly elevated whisper she said, “Sound travels.”

Cicero sighed and looked down at Tressa with a bit of an annoyed huff.

“What?!” she responded, wondering why he was agitated at her about it.

Before the two could start bickering with each other, Tsuni walked past them with an addressment to Cicero's asking of the brothers.

“The brothers have not returned yet?” she asked, “They were bringing back a cauldron of stew when Tsuni departed to collect shiny things.”

“Shiny things?” Cicero questioned.

Tsuni tossed a duffle bag from her back on the ground, the clank and jingle indicating it full of coin or valuable ores or both.

“Tsuni thought it wise to restart our treasury again, as soon as possible,” she explained and Nazir gave that a clap of agreement. 

The Khajiit turned her head back towards the tunnels.

“Perhaps they were a little weighed down?” she said. She began to walk that way, when Kor's voice was heard from one of the branching tunnels. 

“Nope, just trying not to spill it!” he called out, having heard her and answering back.

He soon emerged within sight with the large, rather full cauldron in his hands, and he was both trying not to spill its contents nor have it completely resting against him—as it appeared to still have a heat to it. 

The blond haired Nord rolled his eyes a little.

“Aphid's twiggy, weak, lanky arms are no help…,” Kor huffed.

“Hey…,” the older brother sounded scolding as he emerged behind Kor, then his voice relaxed without a bother, “Hands are full.”

He cradled but one sack in his arm like an infant, his free hand resting atop it. 

Kor stopped close to Tressa, who was still sat on the ground, and he looked down at her while silently mouthing a remark about his brother. 

It was obvious he was mouthing “twiggy, weak, lanky arms” again. 

Aphid knew his brother well and slugged him on the back with the sack he had been cradling. 

“Ey!” the younger brother exclaimed, jumping a bit and rebalancing his hold, nearly sloshing some of the cauldron’s contents. 

“Don't make me drop it on Tress,” he said, “It's got carrots in it….Also, it's kind of hot…”

Cicero gave a dismissive wave.

“Puh, she's already disfigured,” he said, still sounding a bit moody, “….The little liar.”

Tressa turned her head towards him with what sounded like both an offended and confused gasp.

“Wha—Why are you mad at me?” she asked, “And how am I a liar? What is going on?” 

Cicero put his hands on his hips with a narrowed glare, but what he said spoke the opposite of his demeanor. 

“I'm not mad,” he said, “Cicero just doesn't like being the one snuck up on.”

“Old git hypocrite,” Tressa sassed him about that. 

“Ah ha,” he false laughed, “…liar.”

“How am I a liar?!”

Kor started to move away to set the cauldron elsewhere, giving the two a slightly befuddled look as he did. 

“You said you weren't disfigured!” Cicero replied to her, Kor spinning back around at that and sloshing a bit of the contents right at Tressa. 

Aphid; however, apparently had great reflexes and shielded her with the sack he held—though a little bit of his arms were hit. 

As he straightened, he looked at his brother with the smallest of a sigh, “…..Ow.”

“Sorry….,” Kor replied but then looked wildly to Cicero and Tressa.

“I missed the reveal?!” he asked and then said to Tressa, “Ha! I knew you were disfigured!”

“You didn't miss anything, nothing happened,” Tressa replied, “And I'm not disfigured. I told him I had a burn scar on my hand.”

“That's a disfigurement,” Cicero nodded. 

Tressa's hands came up in that what-are-you-talking-about sort of spastic way, but Kor also replied to her before she could say anything. 

“Yeah, that's a disfigurement, Tress,” he agreed with Cicero, “….You lied, Rockhead.”

She sighed at her defeat in aggravation. 

“Urgh, fine,” she said, “….I have a few disfigurements then….But my head isn't an actual rock, so….”

Kor tilted his head at her pause.

“Are you sticking your tongue out at me?” he asked.

“…..yesss,” she said, the reply hissed by her tongue being out. 

“Aaah,” Kor smiled, “Seems I am getting pretty good at seeing under that shroud.”

“Heh, don't feel too special,” Tressa responded, “Apparently everyone's rather good at it.”


End file.
